Two Countries, One World
by Tashii Cat
Summary: The other countries are fed up of England and France's constant arguing so they lock them inside a cell in hopes that they will settle their differences. Little do they both realise that they will step into a world that they would soon create themselves.
1. Prologue

"No-one would agree to an idea like that stupid frog!"

"You're one to talk stupid roast beef!"

"Is that the best you've got, you snail eating bastard!"

"Oh please! Have you got anything new to say? You've used those insults so many times they're like a mosquito bite now."

"Oh yeah? You want more than a fucking mosquito bite? I'll bite you so hard, you'll be crying with surrender like you always do!"

"I'll be the one that will make you cry, you British pansy!"

Once again, the other nations of the G8 meeting were subjected to another one of England and France's arguments. Every meeting they held would somehow start with either England or France shooting down the other's opinion. Then it continues with them trying to score points off each other only to evolve into a contest of the worst insults they could conjure up. If neither one was hurt by the verbal offenses, the fight would finally escalate into a case of a physical brawl that one would see in a high school court yard. The meeting would then be postponed until both of the countries have calmed down, only for them to start the vicious cycle again in the next meeting they attend together. While England and France rolled around on the floor throwing punches at each other, Italy turned to Japan who in turn bought out his mobile phone to check his messages.

"I'm hungry and those two are going to be fighting for a while. Can we go get some pasta?" Italy whined.

"I suppose," Japan nodded. "But I think we should break the fight up before we can eat."

"Aaw, I don't know," Russia cut in as he gave a smile at the bickering pair. "I think it's kind of fun watching those two maul each other. They're like pair of wild animals."

"Well I'm all for food if the meeting's over," America stretched his arms behind his head.

"Um..." Canada bought his miniature polar bear closer to his chest taking a quick glance at France and England still landing a few punches. "Shouldn't we break those two up now?" He said quietly despite knowing he would be ignored as usual. Germany, who stood near the blackboard, cradled his face in his hand for some time since the argument began. His hand shook with increasing intensity when he finally pulled it away from his face and slammed both fists onto the table. The bang was so immense that everyone jumped from their seats and gaped at the fuming German. France and England froze in their current position and adopted the same reaction as the rest when Germany stomped up the pair on the floor.

"Every single meeting that takes place always gets postponed until next time, because you two can't seem to repress your instinct of attacking one another!" Germany yelled, his icy, blue eyes flared with anger.

"But he started it!" France piped up with fear in his voice.

"I do not start anything you liar!" England shot a look of objection at the Frenchman.

"Both of you shut up!" Germany snapped once more as his hands pinched whatever ear lobe he could grab from each of them. England and France yelped in pain as the German yanked them off the floor. "Everyone else has had enough of your antics. We can't keep ending the meetings early so you two can calm down until the next time you even take one glance at each other! And this will be a good time to have a lunch break for an hour! Everyone must be back here at 1:30 on time!" The other countries let out a small cheer before Germany's glare gave them the signal to dismiss themselves.

"Great. I'll have to see your ugly mug in an hour's time," England grumbled.

"I could say the same thing for your caterpillar eye brows," France mumbled in retaliation.

"Actually, you two can go home and calm yourselves down," Germany freed their ears from his vice like grip. "It's clearly obvious that both of you get agitated just by the sight of each other and I don't think it's necessary to put you through that kind of stress. You can take a break while we continue the meeting without you."

"But won't we need to know what's going on in the meeting?" England frowned rubbing his throbbing ear lobe.

"Oui, how are we supposed to know what's been said and done if we're not there?" France said with his hand over his sore ear.

"We'll send you the report so you won't be out of the loop," The German assured them as he pushed both of them out of the room. "Now go get your taxis or whatever and go home, stay there as long as you need and for crying out loud, don't continue your fight down the hallway."

"I'll behave if he does," France uttered under his breath.

"What was that France? I couldn't quite hear that," England narrowed his eyes before both of them were shoved forward by Germany's force.

When the hour passed, everyone excluding England and France arrived relatively on time (mostly because they didn't want to face the wrath Germany unleashed onto the French and the Englishman). The atmosphere was tense but once everyone settled down, Germany stood up and took the role of the presenter once again.

"I'd like to set aside the environmental issues of global warming for a moment because I want your opinion on the constant fighting between England and France. Personally, I think it has taken its toll on all of us and we cannot let their petty arguments getting in the way of progress."

"I agree with Germany-san," Japan nodded his head in agreement. "I find it hard to concentrate on what I'm trying to say, when those two keep quarrelling in the background. It's very distracting and sometimes I forget about important points that I wanted to make."

"I think they make the meetings livelier," Russia smiled. "It's nice to break it up with some childish banter now and again."

"Yeah, but it happens all the time when they're around," America crossed his arms onto the oak table.

"And their shouting gives me headache," Canada added.

"And that's exactly why I came up with a plan to make them get along whether they like it or not! Behold!" Germany declared, grabbing a roll of paper and rolled it across the table. The paper revealed what looked like blueprints to some form of structure; with many numerical details scattered across the page and lines pointing to various parts of the structure. Everyone else crowded around Germany to get a glimpse of the design.

"Aren't these blueprints for a cell?" America raised an eye brow.

"Ohh… so _that's_what Germany likes," Italy beamed. As he nodded happily, the other countries stared nervously at Germany, who in turn slightly blushed before composing himself.

"The idea is to lock both England and France in an environment where they are forced to communicate to each other without using physical violence." The German explained. "I was thinking a month in the cell should do the trick."

"A month? That's a long time to imprison them for constant quarrelling." Japan spoke.

"But it will be enough to get them thinking about how childish they've been," Germany turned to the Japanese man.

"But don't you think it's important for them to not be imprisoned in case their economy and finance sink into trouble?" America chewed on the beef burger he saved from lunch. "I think they should be in there for a week at least."

"They won't learn their lesson in that space of time," Germany's voice started to sound agitated.

"Maybe if we found a length of time that isn't too long or short, we can come to some agreement," Russia suggested.

"Then how long do you think they should be locked up for?" The German furrowed his brows.

"I think three weeks sound right," Canada quietly said.

"How about three weeks?" Italy raised his hand enthusiastically.

"Da that sounds like a good amount of thinking time for them" Russia grinned.

"Yeah, I'm with Italy on that one," America gestured a thumb up. Canada meanwhile sighed in disappointment.

"Then it is decided; they will spend three weeks together in the cell and using psychology as a weapon, they will have no choice but to be civil to each other," Germany rolled up the blueprints.

"Hold on," Japan interrupted. "Why don't we just use the island dedicated to their fighting?"

"Um… It's going under repairs at the moment. You could say the island has gotten a little smaller since they last fought to the death." America rubbed the back of his honey blonde hair.

"That's enough chatting!" Germany ordered as he clenched his fist once more. "We will now initiate phase one of Operation Cell Mate; capture England and France!"

!

"Stupid frog!" England uttered under his breath whilst carving the meat off some blackened beef and sitting it on his floral decorated plate. "My eye brows are not that thick! How dare he act so arrogant like he smells of roses when he's the cause of many of the arguments?" As he laid out the pale carrots and green beans onto his plate, he looked at it and exhaled deeply with dissatisfaction. "Oh well, at least I don't have to look at the git for a while since Germany insisted we left early to calm down. Plus I can get on with a few projects I've been putting off for some time." England untied his apron and hung it on the hook at the back of the door and strode over to the kettle that had finally boiled. "And there is nothing better than sitting down with a nice cup of English brew."

When he finished pouring the water from the kettle to the china tea pot, he settled down near the dining table and poured himself some tea in a cup with similar décor to the plate. He took a sip and felt all the tension melt away. "That hit the spot," He smiled. Just as he was about to tuck into his meal, the doorbell chimed. "I wonder who that can be at this time of night," He said to himself as he made his way to the front door.

Once he got to the door, he twisted the brass door handle and pulled it open.

"Hey Britain! How ya doin'?" The distinct voice rang out.

"America, what are you doing around here?" England asked. "I was just about to have dinner."

"Oh really? Sorry," The American lightly laughed. "I just came by to see how you were after that meeting today."

"I'm alright," England started. "I'm still pissed off at the git for starting the whole thing."

"But you didn't have to rise to the bait," America placed his hands in the pockets of his red hoodie.

"I know but it's so hard not to. I mean, he and I have been enemies right from the start and it seems it'll be like that as long as we breathe." England scratched the back of his short, blonde hair. "Plus, my ear is still raw after Germany grabbed. He didn't have to squeeze it that hard." America laughed before pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Well I've gotta go. I'll see ya at the next meeting." The American waved and turned away from the Briton. "And try not to get too flustered okay?"

"I'll try not to. Take care," England waved back before closing the door.

Making his way back to the dining table all sorts of thoughts ran through his head. "Now why on earth would America call me at this time of night just to check up on me? And he seemed more compassionate than he normally is…" The Briton didn't concern himself too much as he finally sat down in front of his meal. He lifted the cup and took a few gulps of tea before he stabbed the fork into the burnt beef and the soaked vegetables. As he chewed, he suddenly became aware of heavy sensation. He felt his eye lids become tired and struggled to keep them open. "I didn't think I'd become so tired so soon," He thought as he attempted to stagger to his feet. "Maybe I should just go to…" His sentence trailed into silence as he collapsed onto the floor, pulling most of the crockery down with him when he grabbed the table cloth. Even with the ear shattering clattering sound couldn't stir the unconscious Briton as two pairs of black, gloved hands dragged him by his green sweater.

!

"Stupid frog? Snail eating bastard? Can't he come up with anything new to insult me with?" France poured himself a glass of red wine whilst he reclined on the brown, leather couch. He placed the wine bottle onto the wooden coffee table, looked up to the ceiling and sighed. "If that stupid roast beef just keeps his mouth shut and not make a sound, I would actually tolerate him. Mais non! He always has to try and get the last word in everything! And his attitude absolutely stinks like rotten elderberries!" The Frenchman took a sip of his wine when he heard the doorbell ring. He gently lowered his wine glass onto the table and made his way to the door.

"I don't think I'm expecting any visitors," France said as he approached the wooden door. He pressed the handle down and pushed it open. France searched the entry way with much confusion. No-one stood to greet him. "Must be someone playing a practical joke on me, even though April fools day has been and gone." Something on the ground caught his eye and this made France look down. A bouquet of purple flowers lay on the door step abandoned. With a surprised expression on his face, the Frenchman picked them up and let out a smile. "Somebody must have left these there for me as they know that the iris is my national flower." He assumed as he lifted up the tag to read it. "To France, hope you like these flowers. Love from your secret admirer." France scanned the area one more time in hopes of finding the sender of the bouquet. Once he admitted that no-one was there, he turned back into the house and shut the door.

The warm light emitted in the hallway as he cradled the irises in his arms. "The pretty girl must have been too shy to give these to moi in person. No matter, I shall put these in a vase where I can admire and imagine la femme who wishes to express her love to moi." France lifted the bouquet to his nose and inhaled deeply. When he breathed out again, he paused. He sniffed briefly a few times before he muttered, "Huh? What is this strange odour that I can smell? Irises don't usually smell like this." Without any warning, a gloved hand swooped in front of his face and pressed a white cloth down on his nose and mouth, which made him drop the bouquet onto the floor. France let out a muffled scream as he felt an arm constrict his chest. He tried desperately to throw the arm off himself while wriggling violently to break free. But his attacker's vice like grip wasn't easing and their hand was still glued onto the Frenchman's face. France's cries gradually diminished as his body seemed to be losing its strength to fight back. Eventually, France's world turned black and his body became limp.

Satisfied that his victim could no longer struggle, the black clad attacker towed him out through the front door and carried him up the garden path, towards a white van parked in front of the gate. The figure prized the van doors open and positioned him inside before climbing into the back themselves. Once they slammed the doors shut again, the black clad individual tapped at the back wall of the van, which gave the driver the signal to accelerate forward down the dimly lit road.


	2. Secret Respect Revealed

"Ow… my head…" England groaned as his eyes danced themselves open as he pushed himself up from the cold, concrete floor. His head felt as heavy as it was when he started losing consciousness and this made him feel groggier. "This is the worst hangover without the aid of alcohol," The Briton rubbed his eyes before focusing them on his surroundings. Confusion started in his mind as noticed that the walls and floor was the shade of concrete grey with a small, barred window located high on the wall. A shower cubicle sat in one corner of the room with a porcelain white sink stood next to it. The toilet was situated in the other corner and a silver, metal door stood at the end opposite the wall with the window that shed some natural sunlight. England rubbed his eyes in hopes that he was just imagining what he was seeing but everything he saw stayed in their places. "How the bloody hell did I end up here?" He muttered to himself. "I don't remember getting drunk and disorderly."

"That's what I want to know," a new voice moaned.

England spun his head around to find another man sat up slowly near a bunk bed. As he raised his head, his shoulder length, gold locks pulled back like curtains to reveal a startled expression. Both eyes locked onto one another for a brief second as if they didn't expect the other one to be there.

"France!"

"Britain!"

"What are you doing here!" They both yelled in perfect unison.

"What the bloody hell is going on here!" England inquired.

"How am I supposed to know!" France's hand floated to his own chest covered by his pale pink pinstriped shirt. "One moment I was holding a bouquet of irises and then the next thing I knew, I was being attacked by some mad man!"

"You were attacked?"

"Oui!" France nodded his head. "The door bell rang so I answered it and there was a bouquet of irises on the floor with no messenger. I took them into my house thinking they were from a secret admirer, only to be knocked out with someone armed with chloroform!"

"Now that you mention it, I answered the door at one point last night but it was America and he only came by to see if I was alright." England placed his hand under his chin.

"That was awfully kind of him," France tucked some hair behind his ears. "Considering that you were the one who started the fight."

"Yes, I thought his behaviour slightly odd when he said he was checking up on me," England suddenly perked up and scowled at the Frenchman. "And what do you mean, I started it! You were the one who had a go at me first!"

"Just because I didn't agree with you, you had a go at me!" France shot a dark look at the Englishman.

"That's a load of bollocks, you prick! As soon as you knew I was right and you were wrong, you had to shoot down my opinion!" England shot to his feet and jabbed his index finger at the Frenchman. Not to be intimidated by him, France stood to his feet as quickly as the Briton did.

"I made plenty of valid points! You just couldn't accept that and started making stuff up!" He retaliated.

"I was making stuff up!" All at once, both of the countries started tugging at each other's hair. "You deliberately tried to mislead everyone else to believing that what I said was utter nonsense!"

"You don't even know what you were talking about half the time!" France shouted. The hair pulling turned into face slaps and they in turn escalated into a fist fight. None of them cared about how much time had passed, as long as they had the stamina to defeat their foe; they weren't going to back down easily.

In fact it was only a day later that they started to falter with their punches. They could barely pant their insults but in the end, they laid on the floor huffing and puffing. They didn't even have enough strength to haul their weary bodies back up so they spent another day asleep on the floor.

By the time they both woke up, their muscles ached and their moods weren't any better than when they first arrived. Finally, England had enough strength to stand on his two feet.

"This is getting me nowhere," He grumbled. "I've spent a whole day wasting my energy on you when I could have easily used it to make my escape."

"And what dare I ask do you plan to do?" France climbed onto the bottom bunk of the bunk bed.

"Isn't it obvious, toad? I'm going to break the door down and murder whoever drugged me in the first place." The Briton strode up to the metallic door and began kicking it with the sole of his foot.

"What are you doing?" France stared at the Briton with an annoyed expression.

"If there's one thing I've learnt about breaking down doors, it's that you have to kick them at the lock where it's most fragile." England explained between the bangs. "In just a few moments, the door will no longer stand in my way of escape." France rolled his eyes as he watched the Englishman booting the door. Five minutes later and England began to tire while the door stood strong without so much as a scratch.

"So much for the door breaking down in a few moments," France snorted. England glowered at him when he heard the comment.

"If you think you can do better, you try kicking the door down! Or if you have anything that you can turn into a key that will be much appreciated!"

Before France could react, a small port hole opened at the top of the door. Both of the countries responded to the sliding sound by watching a cream envelope flutter through the hole before it shut itself again. England thumped the door with the palm of his hand.

"Hey! Who are you! What's the big idea locking us up in here!" He bellowed before slumping in defeat. France got up from the bed and picked up the envelope that sat next to England.

"Maybe whatever's in this envelope will help shed some light on our situation," The Frenchman tore the sleeve and unfolded some pieces of paper.

"So what does it say?" The Briton gazed at the concentration on France's face.

"It says: i'To France and England. You two are most likely wondering why you are inside a cell together/i."

"Too bloody right we are!" England spat while France continued.

"iA lot of people have had enough of your constant bickering. We felt that by locking you two up together, this would hopefully get you to settle your differences. For the next three weeks-/i Three weeks! They must be mad to think we can stay together for one day let alone three weeks!" France's eyes widened in horror as England took the letter from him.

"iFor the next three weeks, you will learn to tolerate each other in this cell; which only has one way out and that is through the titanium door that can solely be opened from the outside. So your leg is most likely aching if you've tried kicking the door down. And before you decide to use the window to escape, it's not big enough for either of you to crawl through. And I very much doubt you would have any equipment to remove the bars; since we've confiscated anything that can assist you with your break for freedom. So your only option is to get along for three weeks and hopefully this will give you some valuable experience. And to make sure you do cooperate with each other, we will be setting tasks which require you to work together. Succeed in each task and you will be rewarded with an evening meal. Failure will ensure you get no dinner at all. We sincerely hope that these twenty-one days will enhance your relationship in a positive way/i."

"Does it say who it's from?" France peeked at the letter while fidgeting with the extra pieces of paper.

"No, it doesn't. Cowards," England grumbled as he furrowed his brows. "There's more; iP.S: Your first task should be attached to this letter/i."

"That's probably what I've got here," France's eyes focused on the piece of paper. "iFor your first task, you have been provided with a pen each and a pair of blank lists. You are to come up with ten things that apply to both of you. However, to make sure you don't boost your egos, you will be writing ten things about each other./i"

"Hah! This will be a piece of cake!" England laughed as he searched through the envelope for a pen, grabbed one of the lists from France's hand and climbed onto the top bunk of the bed.

"Hey! How come you get the top bunk!" The Frenchman complained.

"Because France, you've already made your decision about where you want to sleep," England made himself comfortable on the bed. "Besides, I think it's more appropriate that you sleep at the bottom. Britain has always been on top in warfare, cricket and on any geographical map."

"That doesn't account for anything!" France snapped as he reluctantly settled himself on the bottom bunk. As he studied the paper he heard England let out a curse.

"France! Have you read this!"

The Frenchman stared at the paper once more until his eyes widened with horror.

"Ten good things I like about England?" He whispered as he sat up.

"Ten good things I like about bloody France!" The Briton shrieked as he hung his head over the bed to glare at France. "How am I supposed to think of one thing let alone ten good things about you!"

"I'm not the one who thought of this ridiculous idea!" France yelled. "Besides, I haven't had any food for two days and I'm not going to skip another meal just because you can't be bothered to do the task!"

"I haven't had any food either!" England whinged. "If we don't get anything to eat tonight, I'm holding you responsible!"

"Then that makes two of us!" France retorted as he turned to the piece of paper in front of him.

"Fine!" England let out before he climbed back to his bunk.

Both countries pored and strained their eyes on the empty pieces of paper. It was at least an hour and a half later that they decided to break the silence of their concentration.

"How many have you got so far?" France tapped his pen on his knee.

"Just the one," England rested his pen against his chin.

"One!" The Frenchman looked up to England with a frown. "You mean to say after goodness knows how long; you could only come up with one nice thing about me?"

"Then how many have you got then?" England looked down at the blonde with a similar expression.

"I have two; which means I'm doing better than you!" France smirked.

"Let me see!" The Briton climbed down from his bunk and leered over the Frenchman's shoulder. "Hey, you crossed that comment out! You still have one like me!"

"Fine!" France pouted. "But you show me your one comment about me and I'll show you mine!"

"Alright!" England pulled away and held his paper in front of him whilst clearing his throat. "France has… very nice hair."

"Is that it!" The Frenchman exclaimed. "You've spent all that time and came up with that!"

"Well you must have something a lot better if you think my comment is that bad," England snorted sarcastically. France meekly hunched his shoulders.

"Um… England's eyes are a nice shade of green."

"What! That's not any better than what I had! And you tell me off for commenting on your hair!" England yelled.

"This is getting us nowhere!" France scowled. "We'll never be able to finish this list!" England slumped onto the bottom bunk away from the Frenchman who buried his face into his hands. After a few seconds of thinking, the Briton's head jerked up.

"How about instead of trying to write about each other, we should write about what we like about what we have our country." He said in an eccentric tone. "There's nothing in the letter that said we couldn't do that." As much as France wanted to argue with him, he was concerned about how empty his stomach had been. If it meant him having to go along with an idea that his enemy bought out, he would have more of a chance of survival in the cell.

"D'accord," He breathed out. "We'll try that."

The two countries started scribbling for the first time in a while; their faces focussed and were full of concentration. Their hands rapidly sliding across the page as one by one, the list began to fill itself. It was only a few minutes later that both of them had finally filled out the pieces of paper that were once empty. The countries breathed a sigh of relief.

"Voila, fini…" France exhaled. England gave a small chuckle before turning to the Frenchman.

"Um… is it alright if I read what you wrote for me?" He asked.

"But of course," France passed his list to the Englishman. "I am curious myself as to what you wrote for me." England nodded in agreement as he extended his arm for France to take it. Both men's eyes scanned the page intensely until they both looked up at the same time.

"You think the Eiffel Tower is nice in the day and at night?" France started.

"Well, during the day it's an impressive structure and I think it's a perfect representation of what Paris is; an iconic city that has a culture quite unique from the rest of the world," England spoke with his hands trapped in between his legs. "But when night comes, the lights on the tower make it a glorious sight to behold. And it still stands out from the rest of Paris." France stared in a state of surprise. Never had England admitted anything like that to him before arriving in the prison cell and this made France speechless for a moment.

"Uh… so you like the London Eye? You've been before?" England's voice snapped France out of his frame of mind.

"Is that what it's called? I thought it was called the Millennium Eye," France looked down sheepishly. "To be honest, I like all of the monuments you have in London but the Eye of London, as you call it, gives you a chance to see everything from a different perspective and the view is breath taking once you reach the top. It's simply inspiring to think that everyone can have access to see your capital city in all its glory."

"Wow." England was taken aback by the comment. "I know a lot of people like it and all but for you to say such a… provocative thing is quite stunning."

"I think because it's such a new thing for the both of us to be flattering each other instead of fighting, we're just not used it," France crossed his legs on the bed as he read the list again. His eye brows suddenly rose. "This comment hasn't anything to do with any part of my culture you like. iFrance always lend an ear to those who are in need and from a logical point of view, he always gives out good (?) advice/i. Why did you put a question mark next to 'good'?"

"Well, some of your advice is somewhat questionable," England turned to France. "Like that time on your radio show, someone wrote in asking how to get people to like them. Your advice to them was to use pick-up lines like, 'can you direct me to your bedroom?' when you ask someone for directions. I don't think that answered their question, but you are willing to listen when you want to even outside your radio station."

"I guess it's because I'm one of the older nations and they see me as someone with a lot of experience," France bragged.

"In life or sexual activities?" England smirked.

"I have you know my experience comes from a lot of observation of people's behaviour," France wafted his hand rejecting the Briton's last comment. "As a Frenchman, I have to know if I can move in on a pretty girl and her body language is the thing that gives me the answers."

"You read body language?" England said as though he didn't believe him.

"I do it all the time in the meetings we have when I'm bored," France placed his hands behind him on the bed. "Par example, America's confidence is highlighted by how much of his giant burger he eats. When he gets cocky, he takes huge bites and when he is not so confident or he feels uncomfortable he takes little nibbles out it."

"Oh, I thought he took large bites because he was being greedy." England placed his index finger under his chin.

"Well, it's that too but now you know," France shrugged his shoulders. "Keep an eye out for it next time."

"Okay, what else happens in the meetings?" England giggled in amusement.

"Bien, everyone knows the signs of Germany's agitation, right?" France casually pointed his index finger.

"Of course;" England rested his head on his hand. "The furrowed brows, the angry expression, not to mention the face palm-"

"Which he subconsciously does to cover his twitchy nose," The Frenchman finished his sentence.

"Twitchy nose?" The Briton burst out laughing. "How do you know that?"

"I have caught him off guard before when he was scolding Italy once," France explained. "But he doesn't know that he does it, which makes it more amusing for me when he covers it up."

England let out a few more laughs before he managed to reduce them to chuckles by holding his stomach. "That'll give me something to entertain myself from now on." He cleared his throat as he turned to the Frenchman. "Um… is there anything I do in the meetings that I'm not aware of?"

"Well there is one thing I've seen you do which I think is cute," France started. "You know when babies or young children rub their ears to express tiredness? You do that when you're starting to get bored during the meeting. Sometimes it even caused you to fall asleep without even realising it." At that moment, England ruffled his straw like hair and blushed with embarrassment.

"I… I really don't know what to say," His voice wavered. "I can't believe you can see all these things going on."

"How do you think I manage to stay awake in meetings?" France winked at England which in turn made him turn to his list.

"Hold on, you wrote something about me personality wise too," England blinked. "iEngland has an invincible amount of determination, which serves him well when he is fighting for what he believes in/i. Wow, you think that?"

"You are very stubborn I have to admit, but that has prevented you from being conquered by other countries including myself." France leant forward.

"To be fair, the Normans and the Vikings conquered us," England corrected him. "But I guess that's where our fighting spirit comes from."

"And that fighting spirit made sure no other country took control of yours ever since," France added. "You could say that I envy you for that. Now if you could learn to be quiet when told to, I'd respect you more."

England opened his mouth to answer back when three knocks struck the door, catching their attention.

"Who would knock on a cell door for us?" France muttered as England picked the letter up and read it.

"Ah. This letter says to put the lists back in the envelope they came from and hand it to someone who will knock three times. When you have the envelope ready, knock three times at the door and pass it through the gap." He said.

"Well we better do it before whoever it is leaves," The Frenchman suggested.

"France, let me give the envelope to them," England extended his arm to France. With a puzzled expression, France handed the list to the Briton and watched him fold the pieces of paper into the sleeve. England stood up from the bed and made his way to the door. He tapped the door as instructed and the latch opened. As the foreign hand grabbed the envelope, England seized his chance and caught the sleeve off the owner of the hand. There was a yelp as England's grip tightened.

"Help! Help me! I'm being pulled in! Please don't hurt me!" The voice cried. Once the Britain recognised the voice by the insistent begging, he pulled their arm further into the cell.

"Italy… so you're a part of this little charade!" He snapped.

"I'm sorry it's true! But it was all Germany's idea! He was the one that built this cell and planned to capture and thrown you two in there together! America, Japan, Russia, the guy with a polar bear (whose name I can't remember) and I were only following orders from him!" The Italian squeaked in an incredible speed.

"Those sneaky bastards…" France stood up, uttering under his breath. Meanwhile, England kept a firm grip on the Italian's blue sleeve.

"Alright, next question; how many days have we spent in this cell so far?" The Briton demanded.

Italy at this point started mumbling non-coherent words which didn't correspond with his question. With every second Italy spent gushing out gibberish, the volume of England's growling became apparent. Finally, he had enough and slammed the Italian's cheek against the cold metal using his trapped arm.

"Answer the question!" The Briton bellowed. "How long have we spent here?"

"Three days! Three days!" Italy immediately responded with a scream. "Please stop it! You're going to dislocate my shoulder!"

Watching the Englishman interrogate Italy as he did made France feel slightly uncomfortable and, dare he said it, frightened. He knew England can be a fearsome opponent given the chance, but he concluded that being locked up in a cell with his mortal enemy has put a bad taste in his mouth.

"And who can blame him?" France thought. "They threw us both in here against our freewill." As much as he wanted to calm England down, he was afraid that some of the Briton's anger would be inflicted on him and because he was trapped in the cell with him, it made him uneasy. All France could do was watch England taking his anger out on the poor Italian weeping at the other side of the door.

"One last question," England said in a calmer tone but not without a tinge of annoyance. "What does Germany hope achieve with this plan of his?"

"That's enough!" A new forceful voice rang from the other side of the door. The arm that England had clenched onto suddenly disappeared with one immense pull. Before the Englishman had a chance to do anything, he caught a glimpse of a pair of icy blue eyes which were quickly obscured by what appeared to be a spray can. Without any warning, a spray of its contents gushed directly at his face. This made England's hands smack straight onto his face as he let out a piercing cry.

"AAAAAGGGHHH! IT BURNS! IT FUCKING BURNS! FUCK!"

France immediately rushed over to the Englishman who collapsed onto his knees. As he helped him to his feet, he couldn't help but barely hear the chilling words of the German accent that spoke while England cursed.

"This is what will happen every time you try to pull a stunt like that. Not only that but your efforts for this task become null and void, providing you with no evening meal."

The latch shut quickly before France had a chance to react and England's bawling quickly reminded him of what his priority should be.


	3. Scream Therapy and Suspicions

France rushed to England's side and hoisted him to his feet.

"Let's get you to the sink and wash that stuff off your face," The Frenchman led England to the sink. The Briton still wailed at the immense pain he tried to tame by covering his face with his hand as France ran the cold tap. "Don't scratch or rub your face!" He advised. "Your face will get worse if you do that."

"How can I not scratch my face you twat!" England blubbered, splashing water on his skin. "It itches so much!"

"Just keep splashing the water on your face without rubbing it in," France continued to console him. "Trust me; I've had that stuff sprayed on me by plenty of pretty girls who were not so fond of my advances many times." England briefly looked up to France and scowled at him.

"Twat," was the only thing he could utter before washing his face.

It was a while later that the burning sensation left England's face as he patted it dry with a towel. Both countries sat on the bottom bunk with France watching England in case he acted up again. Hugging his knees, France noticed the Briton's melancholic expression after he removed the towel from his face.

"Just to let you know," France finally spoke softly after the long silence. "We're not going to get that evening meal tonight.

"I know," England mumbled. "After all the effort we both put in that stupid task, I had to go and ruin it." There was a long pause before one word finally escaped the Briton's mouth. "Sorry."

That one word startled France for he never received any form of apology from his sworn enemy until now. After every war that they fought each other in and the petty arguments they ever participated, it was probably the only time France heard that word come from England. The Frenchman fidgeted with his fingers in agitation. After all, it was hard thinking of ten good things they could say to each other and because England took the opportunity to grill Italy in a rage, their reward had been denied. But saying that, France couldn't deny that he enjoyed talking to England like a civilised person for a change. He bet that England felt the same way before the three knocks beckoned the situation they were in now. France breathed deeply to calm himself and turned to England, who buried his head into his arms that rested on his knees.

"There's always tomorrow," He said. "Until then, learn to control your temper. Think of today as an example of that lesson." The Briton glanced up with an expression a child would pull after being told off by a parent. France could see the Englishman was annoyed by the comment and he knew he wanted to retaliate but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out so he closed it again. England stood up from the bed and climbed the ladder to the top bunk without uttering a word. France watched him with a subdued expression as he placed his feet on the floor. He stared at the ceiling and sighed deeply and began reminiscing about how England at one point had been one of his underlings. France knew this annoyed England to no end, especially since he teased him about many things. Little did he realise that he would get his comeuppance when England grew strong enough to rebel and defeat him many times. Bringing himself back to the present, France scratched his head before placing his elbows on his lap in a hunched position. At least the fiasco with the pepper spray confirmed that England still had that unbeatable determination and his comment on the list was evidence of that.

The eerie silence still hung the next morning and throughout breakfast, England still sulked and hadn't even looked at France in the face. Not a single word passed the Briton's lips during the afternoon and as weird as it sounded, this worried France. It was like the time when England didn't leave his house because America rebelled against him and became independent. But at the time, France mocked and made snide comments about it when he took the opportunity; eventually earning him a broken nose from England's fist. For some reason though, France couldn't help but feel concerned for the other country lying on the top bunk. The Frenchman decided that England needed cheering up and stood at the bottom bunk to get a good view of the Englishman, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"Britain, what happened yesterday is now in the past," He finally broke the silence. "We need to work together on the next task and I can't do it with you sulking in bed." England rested the back of his hand on his forehead while his other hand cushioned the back of his head.

"Why didn't you shout at me yesterday?" England murmured. "We didn't get our evening meal yet you didn't get angry with me. Why?" The Frenchman paused. Maybe England had felt guilty in the first place for ruining the effort they put into yesterday's task, and the lack of his telling off made the Briton feel worse.

"I thought the pepper spray would have been enough punishment for you," France said in a serious tone. "Besides, after doing that task yesterday, I thought it would be a shame to spoil something that was as nice as talking to one another like civilised men." This prompted England to roll on his side, turning his back away from France without saying anything. The Frenchman stared at the Briton in dismay.

"That is it!" France shrieked as he jumped from the bunk bed. "I am getting sick and tired of you wallowing in your own self-pity as well as mine! I have no choice but to cheer you up!" This made England sit up and looked at France in with a tired expression.

"What are you up to?" He asked.

"I am going to show you a way to vent out all of your frustrations and feel good in the end; scream therapy," France flashed a grin.

"Scream therapy?"

"Oui. Regarde and learn Britain," France took a deep breath as if he prepared himself. Suddenly he threw his arm towards the sink with his index finger pointing rigidly at it while unleashing an almighty scream. "THE SINK! THE SIIIIIIIIINK!"

"Don't tell me you're afraid of spiders because I'm not going to get it out for you," England climbed down from the bunk bed.

"Non!" France spun around to face the Briton. "I am just screaming at the sink."

"You have officially gone mad," England said in an unimpressed tone.

"Now it's your turn; scream at anything you want in this cell."

"I am not going to scream at inanimate objects like a crazy person France."

"And you don't think talking to your imaginary friends is a sign of madness?"

"Hey! My fairy friends are as real as you and me!"

"Just scream at something and let all that tension out."

England exhaled in defeat. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he grumbled as he suddenly jabbed his finger at the shower cubicle. "AAARRGH! THE SHOWER! IT POURS WATER OUT LIKE RAIN BUT IT DOESN'T COME FROM A CLOUD! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"

"That's it!" France beamed. "Get rid of all your negative emotions! MON DIEU! THAT TOILET COULD SWALLOW US WHOLE AT ANY MOMENT IF WE GO NEAR IT! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

"THE WINDOW HAS THREE BARS! THREE BARS! IT'S AN ABOMINATION!"

The session of screaming, shrieking and howling at anything in the cell persevered to the point where both countries started to lose their voices. In between coughing and hacking, England laughed while he clutched to his stomach.

"Why the bloody hell am I laughing when I have a sore throat?" The Briton could barely get his words out between giggling and coughing.

"That's because you've screamed out all of your negative emotions, leaving you with the feelings of joy," France chuckled, hanging onto the bunk bed rail. England tried to form a sentence but a loud cackle escaped his mouth preventing him to speak properly. His arms still wrapped around his stomach as he hunched his head forward. Both of them struggled to reduce the volume of their laughter when a new voice joined in.

"Hey, are you guys okay in there?"

All at once, the laughing transformed into girly screams. As quickly as they turned to find the owner of the foreign voice France leapt into England's arms; which were strong enough to cradle him in a bridal position. There was an awkward pause where they both glanced at each other before they broke away from each other. They composed themselves by clearing their throats and turned to the bemused man; whose face they recognised through the small gap of the door.

"What do you want America?" England placed his hands on both sides of his waist.

"Have you come to rub salt into our wounds like Germany and the others have?" France added.

"No," The American shook his head. "I just came to see if you guys were alright. I heard you guys freaking out on my way here and I thought something bad was going on."

"Ah non, we were just trying out scream therapy," France crossed his arms.

"You actually feel really good about it afterwards," England smirked.

"Really? Let me have a try," America took a deep breath and howled so loud that France and England clamped their hands over their ears.

"Mon dieu, the lungs on that home!" The Frenchman winced.

"I got used to it," England said casually. Both countries removed their hands from their heads once America stopped screaming.

"Hey, I do feel a little better. I can't wait to show the other guys this!" America exclaimed in excitement.

"Yes. I'm sure Germany would appreciate it very much," England raised a wry smile.

"Well as long as you guys are okay- oh, I nearly forgot." America raised two brown paper wrapped parcels and passed them through another gap at the bottom of the door. "I really shouldn't be giving you these but… here."

"What is this?" France examined the box addressed to him.

"They're spare clothes," America combed his hand through his honey blonde hair. "I figured since you're going to be spending three weeks in there, you two are gonna stink. So I thought these would make your stay a little bearable."

"Oh, how thoughtful of you," England began tearing the wrapping paper to his parcel.

"Yeah, I just hope Germany isn't listening to this right no- ya know what? Forget what I just said." America nervously giggled. "I better get going before someone finds out about this. Try not to kill each other."

And with that, both of the smaller doors within the door shut before England and France could say anything. Both countries took their spare clothes to their beds and inspected each item.

"France, there's something that's been bothering me and I want your opinion on this," England lifted a white shirt from the pile of spare clothes on the top bunk. "Did anything strike you as odd yesterday?"

"What do you mean?" France looked up at England.

"Well, didn't you think it was spooky that as soon as we managed to finish our task, Italy showed up?" France froze and blinked in realisation.

"Now that you mention it, his timing was impeccable."

"And not just Italy, but Germany's arrival was somewhat convenient. It's as if they knew exactly what we were doing." The Briton hooked the bottom of his knees on top of the bunk bed rail, leaving his feet dangling in the air.

"And today, America did say something that I thought was bizarre; 'I hope Germany isn't listening to this right now'. What did he mean by that I wonder?" France folded his red trousers and laid them to one side.

"Yes, I was a little confused when he said that," England planted one elbow on top of his knee and rested his head on his hand. "Why on earth would he say something like that?"

"Either way, it was awfully kind of America to give us spare clothes and a few towels while he was at it," The Frenchman began pulling his black shoes and socks off his feet. "I'll be using the shower if that's alright with you."

"Alright," The Englishman answered with a sigh.

France could tell that he was trying to solve the puzzle of how Italy, Germany and America's timing seemed… irreproachable. It was very unusual for the Frenchman to watch England being so calm around him. He watched the pensive Briton for a moment, before stepping into the shower cubicle and closing the white shower curtain behind him. After stripping himself off his clothes and hanging them over the top of the shower, he twisted the handle to release the water. From the moment it splashed onto the Frenchman's body, he exhaled with relief. Never had a shower felt so blissful after spending three days in the same clothes. It was as if the warm water was washing all the tension off his body and seeping down the plug hole. France let the water hit the top of his head and trickle down his golden locks. Everything about the water felt refreshing and seemed to have lifted a load off him. Once he turned the handle to stop the down pour, he grabbed the white towel he hung on top of the shower and ruffled it into his hair before rubbing it all over the rest of his body. After tying the towel around his waist, he grabbed his clothes and exited the cubicle but not without glancing at England. He sat in the same position as he did before the Frenchman took his shower, lost in thought.

"Britain, the shower's free if you want to go in," France informed him. The Briton didn't flinch nor move from his place. The Frenchman pouted as he sat down on the bottom bunk and began dressing himself.


	4. Annoying Bugs

France's agitation with England's meditative state increased through to the next morning. When the Frenchman woke up, he saw the Briton's feet still suspended in the air. He got out of bed (wearing his purple pyjamas) and found him asleep in the same sitting pose in the same clothes as he had on before the Frenchman went to bed. His breakfast hadn't been touched and the Englishman still had his eyes closed mumbling incoherent words. France tried to make sense of what he was saying but in the end, he finally had enough and he pulled him off the bed by his shirt.

"For goodness sake Britain! You have been staring at that wall since yesterday and I'm fed up of it!" France shoved the Briton's towel into his arms as well as an assortment of his clothes. "Get yourself in the shower right now! You're stinking the place out with your odour!" England was in shock from being rudely awakened that at first he was bemused as to why France was pushing him towards the shower.

"Stop that! I can get ready myself!" He shot a glare of annoyance.

"Well get in there and do it!" France thrust his arm in the direction of the shower.

"You don't have to be so pushy!" The Briton yelled before swiftly closing the shower curtain behind him.

"I'm not being pushy!" The Frenchman stared at the mirror, adjusting his hair. "I just thought it was rude of you not to have spoken a word since last night. When I asked if you were alright, you were sleep talking saying, 'where is it? Where is it?' Where's what! I had to wake you up just so you could look alive!"

"I was saying what now?"

"Where is it? That's what you were saying over and over again. It was driving me crazy!"

"Oh," Was all England could say leaving the sound of the water pouring all over his body. "Maybe it had something to do with what we're talking about last night?"

"You mean about how Italy, America and Germany seemed to have gained the ability to know everything that we're doing?"

"Now that I think about it, I did have the feeling of looking for something. I just can't remember what. Maybe I had a dream that I couldn't remember, I wished I had the pen and paper to write it down."

"Does it really matter?" France turned to the shower and heard the water stop running. It was only moments later that England emerged from the cubicle with a towel tied around his waist and made his way towards the top bunk.

"It's going to keep gnawing at me until I know what it is I'm looking for. Turn around France, I don't want feel violated by your gaze while I'm getting dressed." The Frenchman groaned and sat at the bottom bunk.

"This is one of the many problems with you Britain; you can never let go of anything so easily. I bet you still haven't forgiven Sealand for accidently breaking one of your ornaments when he came to visit that time."

"That vase was expensive! I've spend ages trying to glue all the pieces together and he did it on purpose the little brat! I know he hates me just because I left him out at sea!"

"That's just one of the many things on your list of people to forgive." France tilted his head up at England continued to dress himself. Nothing else was said between them for a while until the Briton jumped off from the top bunk.

"I think I know what I'm looking for," England said emotionlessly as he began analysing around the shower. France rolled his eyes until they widened. Above the bunk bed, a black spider hung at the corner of the cell. Piquing his curiosity, France stood up and approached it to find it was the size of a small table-tennis ball with all of its eight legs attached to the walls. If anything, it looked like the most unconvincing spider in appearance especially with a shiny stomach.

"Britain," France beckoned England to his side while keeping his eyes fixated on the 'spider'. "Is that not the most unconvincing spider you've ever seen?" This caused England to reach out to grab the motionless arachnid. He twirled it in his hand and inspected it.

"Well we all know what to do with all seeing spiders," the Briton said as he dropped it on the floor. Without any warning, he stamped the heel of his shoe on the arachnid twice, reducing it to shards of black plastic.

"You mean this cell has been bugged with a camera?" France's face was aghast with horror which turned to anger. "Those sneaky sons of cochons! They've been watching everything we've been doing!"

"We may have taken away their sight but not their hearing," England said calmly as he carefully scanned the room. "The microphone is most likely hidden somewhere where we wouldn't think of looking. But for now, try not to talk about the camera or the microphone too much. Most likely they already know that we know we're being watched. We just have to find and dispose of the microphone without them knowing."

France muttered in agitation as he searched around the toilet. He lifted the toilet seat and peered down the bowl before he hastily laid the seat down and turned his head away in disgust. Meanwhile, England's hands felt around the metal frame of the bed and found nothing, so he knelt to the floor and waved his hand underneath the bed. His fingers crawled along the ground before they crept along the crevasses of the bed until they finally tapped into a small object. His hand curled around it and pulled what looked like a small microphone out and cupped it in his hand.

"France, I've found it!" England whispered.

"What are you whispering for?" France said casually when the Briton's left hand yanked the collar of his white shirt while his other hand smothered the microphone with the pillow from the bottom bunk. England pressed his index finger on his own lips and hushed France.

"Idiot! We can't let them know that we've found it!" The Englishman hissed.

"Then how about we destroy it?" France forced England's hand off his shirt. "I already feel violated with them knowing about what we wrote for each other in that task."

"No, I have a better idea," A smile crept on the Briton's lips. "Let's say you and me have a little fun with this before we dispose of it? More than likely, one of those pricks are listening in on our conversations." France immediately understood what he was saying as he too shared a mischievous grin.

"What did you have in mind Britain?" He chuckled.

!

"I knew we should have put more than one camera in the cell," Japan held a pair of headphones on his head with his face straining.

"Well I didn't think they'd find it so soon," America whined desperately pressing the buttons on a small television monitor which showed nothing but the static black and white spots; despite the camera being destroyed.

"At least the microphone's still live," Japan fiddled with some of the settings on the audio equipment. Sighing in defeat, America glanced down on the watch around his wrist.

"It looks like my shift's ended. I'm gonna get going. Let me know if they say anything interesting." He waved to the Japanese man as he disappeared through the door. Japan turned his head back to the audio equipment and waited patiently for any sound. All he could hear from the head phones was the quiet static hissing in the background, so Japan hooked some of his ebony hair behind his ears in hopes that it improved the sound quality.

_"So Britain, you said you have an escape plan?"/i A voice with French dialect pricked Japan's ears through the headphones. He twisted some of the knobs on the P.A. machine and pressed the sides of the headphones into his ears._

_"Indeed France. Since we can't get out of the door through force, I think we should use the method of distraction. We'll take some of the clothes that America kindly gave us and transform them into a sexy carnival outfit."_

"Sexy carnival outfit?" Japan's eyes widened in horror as his hands began shaking.

"Then when one of the others opens the latch to check up on us, whoever is going to wear the sexy carnival outfit will provocatively sway their hips. And while we're at it, we could enhance the distraction by wearing a seductive smile. This will distract whoever's at the door long enough for whoever's not doing the distracting to grab the keys, knock them out and unlock the door so we can finally break free."/i

_"That sounds like an excellent plan! If you don't mind, I'll do the distracting. No-one can resist the charms of a Frenchman."_

_"Or if we want to really leave them stunned, maybe I should do it. They'll never see that coming and that'll leave them speechless."_

"Japan, have you got anything to report?" An authoritive sounding voice jolted Japan out of his frozen state. He pulled the headphones off his head and turned to Germany with a flushed red face.

"Uh… G-Germany-san… I think you should listen to this…" Japan stammered offering him the headphones.

"Why are you stuttering for? You sound like you've seen a ghost," The German asked as he bought the headphones to his ears.

"T-they're talking about escaping," Japan cringed at the thought of the conversation he heard.

"Escaping eh? I'd love to see them try," Germany chuckled as he turned up the volume on the P.A. machine.

_"!"_

The blonde haired man threw the headphones off his ears and clasped his hands to the sides of his head. Japan was about to tend to Germany when he heard the voices coming from the earphones. Japan figured that the German turned up the volume not suspecting whatever it is that he heard that made him yelp.

_"Take that you tossers! You should have thought more carefully about where to put your bugging devices!"_

_"That will teach you to try and violate us without our knowledge you nosey bastards!"_

Japan gasped when he heard a pop and the static fuzzy sound after it. He knew that his microphone had been found and promptly destroyed.

"My ears are ringing! Fucking bastards!" Germany groaned, his hands still clung to his ears. All of the sudden, another scream erupted from the other side of the room making Germany cringe even more. The flustered Japanese man and the German turned their heads to find a cheerful Italy at the door.

"Germany! America told me all about this new therapeutic technique called 'scream therapy'." Italy beamed. "You should try it! It's really good for you!"

Germany's growled as he clenched his fists. Sensing the impending rage, Japan bolted out of his chair and out of the room. Before Italy could gather what's happening, Germany let out an almighty roar disregarding the fact that his ears still rung from the first set of screams.

!

"That shall bloody teach them, the wankers!" England rolled on the floor unable to contain his laughter. France was practically on his knees chortling while holding his stomach.

"That part where you said you'd do the hip swaying," Tears rolled down the Frenchman's cheeks as he gasped for air. "That was a stroke of genius!"

Both countries were in stitches and their laughter continued to fill the cell until evening. They knew that they were unlikely to receive an evening meal but they didn't care. They felt it was worth getting their own back on the bastards who locked up there in the first place. They both knew that it was better to make the best out of a situation no matter how bad it got, even if it was going to last three weeks.


	5. Random Answers and Pillow Fights

"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with 'S'," England sat on the top bunk scanning the room blankly. France with an equally bored expression on his face lied on his back on the bottom bunk, fidgeting with the white sleeve of his shirt.

"Sink?" France stared at the ceiling of the bunk bed. There was a pause before the Briton slightly nodded his head.

"Yeah," He said unenthusiastically.

"There aren't a lot of things you can choose in a cell when you're playing 'I spy'," France picked a tiny piece of fluff of his brown trousers and flicked it away out of boredom.

"No, not really," England breathed in through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. "I wonder what happened to those stupid tasks we meant to be set."

"Knowing the others, they probably forgot or just can't be bothered. That and they were probably not going to risk you interrogating anyone else for more information. You were terrifying before Germany came to Italy's rescue."

"I had to take that moment of opportunity," England looked down on France, whose face was barely visible from where the Briton sat. "I think we've been in here for five days now and today is day six."

"Well unless the bastards do decide to give us some tasks, we're going to have to entertain ourselves for the next couple of weeks," France sat up and placed his feet on the floor.

"Yeah, that is going to be a problem," England scratched his straw blonde hair. Another pause hung in the air until the Frenchman's head twitched like inspiration struck him.

"How about we have a random interview?" He raised an eager smile.

"What? Like asking random questions about anything?" England furrowed his thick eyebrows.

"Oui," France beamed again. "It can be about anything like. Par example, if you found a burglar in your house and the only things you could use as a weapon is a pizza box, a coat hanger and a hat. Which one would be your weapon of choice and why?"

"What? I'm only allowed one of those weak objects to defend myself with against a burglar?" England stared him. The Frenchman chuckled.

"Ask a random question and you're more than likely provided with a random answer. So is it the pizza box, the coat hanger or the hat you would defeat your adversary with?" England paused and scratched his short hair until he jumped off the bunk bed.

"Well the pizza box is just a big no; it wouldn't even defeat an ant let alone a burglar." The Briton started. "If the coat hanger was made completely out of metal, I could mould it into some kind of weapon to poke their eyes. They would be blinded for a bit giving me a chance to overpower them but only if they let their guard down. Plus it would take time to mould the coat hanger which isn't a good idea if you need to dispose of the burglar quickly. With a hat, I suppose I can just cover their face with it and apprehend them before they can take it off. So for that reason, I would say the hat."

"Hmm. I would have liked you to have said the pizza box," France sighed. "I would have loved to hear what your British imagination would have come up with for that."

"Sorry to have disappointed you," England sat down on the bottom bunk, smirking. "I have one for you; you brag about how you have a superior sense of fashion and ridicule others for not taking pride in their appearances. Let's say you've been asked to design swim wear for the members of the G8 summit. But here's the challenge; they have to be female swim wear." At that moment, France raised a confident smile.

"For a moment there Angleterre, I could have sworn you said it was a challenge."

"See it as a way of getting the others back for what they're doing to us," England gave a sly grin.

"When you put it like that, I shall start off with Italy," France proudly placed his hand on his chest. "I can see straight away that a yellow tankini would complement his sweet face, but not without a little yellow mini-skirt with a pink flower printed on the left side of it."

"If I'm imagining what you're telling me and if I was a woman, I would actually find him cute." England mused. "Give him a beach ball and he'll have everyone fawning over him."

"Aaaah! He is just too adorable not to fall for, non?" France squealed as his hands floated up to his blushing cheeks. The Briton could see France imagined the Italian gleefully giggling in the bikini he conjured up in his mind. He knew he had to snap the Frenchman out of his fantasy.

"Alright France, don't get too excited." He reprimanded. "You still need to say what you would design for the others." France blinked himself back to reality and sighed.

"You couldn't let me have one moment to bask in my fantasies before you come and ruin it?"

"Get on with it!"

"Fine!" France pouted. "I'll move onto Japan and I know straight away that he would look good in pink like the cherry blossoms that bloom on the trees in his country. Yes, a swim suit that the high school girls would wear with the pink cherry blossom pattern adorning his body. I know he's not the type to expose too much of his flesh and he has a figure so perfectly petite that he can still flaunt it without feeling too self-conscious."

"How do you know he has a small figure?" England inquired apprehensively. He knew that if anyone managed to see or at least imagine what people looked like underneath their clothes, it would be France.

"I had the fortune of visiting him once and he took me to one of those hot springs that his country is so famous for," France explained.

"So you weren't just eyeing him up then?" England raised an eyebrow.

"If he didn't want to flaunt his body, he could have easily covered it up and I wouldn't have minded," France flicked his hair. "No-one would know the difference because he looks so feminine."

"Um… moving on," the Briton stammered, trying to rid himself of the image in his mind that France had painted. "What about China?"

"That's easy," France's face seemed to glow confidence. "China's bikini would be similar to that of a Chinese dress. Adorned in his flag's colours, the gold hem would complement the red bikini as a whole."

"If I may add something to the design, maybe there could be a pattern of a Chinese dragon winding around his body," England interrupted. France was stunned by the Englishman's interjection.

"I didn't think of that but that sounds like a marvellous idea," He said. England could tell the Frenchman was impressed with his idea so he let out a smirk.

"Well Paris isn't the only fashion capital of the world. London does have a few tricks up its sleeves to keep up with the times," England chuckled.

"Ah, and before we forget poor Canada," France quickly said. "His bikini bra would be split into two colours horizontally; red at the top and white at the bottom and a silver maple leaf would lie in the centre of where the cleavage would be if he was a woman. His bikini briefs would be red of course so that it could create the illusion of wearing his country's flag on his body."

"Wow, that's really impressive France." England genuinely complimented him. "I never thought you'd come up with a clever concept like that."

"Clever you say?" The Frenchman grinned. "My you're flattering more than you have ever done before."

"I'd quit while you're ahead France and get on with it," England turned his head away from him. "Have you got any ideas for America?"

"I'm going to avoid the clichés of having him wear the American bikini and just go with something more…" France searched for the word by slowly rotating his hand. "…Heroic."

"And?" England stared at him patiently.

"And I think he is more of a one piece person," France began. "The top half of the swim suit should be blue with some kind of super hero emblem as his chest but the bottom half should be red; like the underwear Superman bears over his costume. And to add the va-va-voom, the hem of said underwear part should be like a white belt with a row of silver stars."

"Now you're making me imagine him running into the ocean like those lifeguards on Baywatch," England sniggered. He could envision America sprinting in slow motion to the theme song, clutching the orange life float tightly in his hand. "Yep, America the hero alright," He thought to himself before turning his head back to France. "Alright, can you think of anything for Russia?"

"Russia's a hard one," France placed his fingers under his chin. "He's the tallest out of us all so there's not a lot that can flatter his figure. But even I can think of something he could wear down the beach or poolside if he wanted to. Like America, he should wear a one piece but instead have the straps tied up around the back. As for the colour, I think a pastel purple would illuminate his, uh, innocent face."

"France, Russia is about as innocent as a cat staring at a tank full of fish," England informed the Frenchman.

"But you have to admit; my idea for his swim suit takes his level of terror down quite a bit, non?" France smiled. The Briton let out a groan in defeat.

"I suppose," but he wasn't beaten as he raised a crafty smile. "Now here's the ultimate challenge; Germany's swim suit. Can you summon a swim suit design perfect for him?"

"Argh!" France smacked his own face with his hand and bowed his head. "Germany is so masculine; he would never look good in a bikini of any kind!" There was a pause. Just when England thought he had stumped him, the Frenchman tilted his head up and removed his hand from his face, revealing a confident grin. "Germany in a mankini however, is a different story."

"A mankini!" England cackled.

"Imagine the scene if you will," France started. "The setting is a beach near a holiday resort; the green leaves hang from the palm trees, the golden sand lays untouched and a few white fluffy clouds are scattered across the azure blue sky. Suddenly, from the crystal clear blue ocean emerges Germany; sporting a black mankini embellished with tiny, silver diamonds. As the fiery sun blazes down on his pale skin, he swishes his blonde hair, flicking some of the water droplet crystals that fall into the-"

"Um… I hate to interrupt your elaborate descriptions but I think Germany puts so much gel into his hair that it's forgotten how to swish." England cut in. France pouted and let out a groan in annoyance.

"Fine; as the fiery sun blazes down on his pale skin, he caresses his blonde, gelled hair by smoothing it out in a sexy manner." The Frenchman continued.

"This is starting to sound like something off a James Bond film," England stammered nervously.

"As Germany completely steps out of the ocean, he stops and scans the beach. The many pretty girls sit up from their sun lounges stunned yet fascinated by this man. When he has caught the attention off all the ladies, he places his hands on his waist and squeezes his muscular-"

"Okay! I think that's enough France!" England laughed out loud with a hint of nerviness. He covered his eyes with both hands in hopes of banishing the horrendous image France created. "I'd like to be able to get some sleep tonight and I can't do it if I know I'm going to have nightmares about Germany in a mankini!"

"Aaaw! But I was getting to the good part!" France whined. "You never let me get to all the juicy parts!"

"There's a reason why I never liked the juicy parts of your stories France!" England removed one hand from his face and repressed his laughter to uneasy chuckles. "My God France, you really are a pervert!"

"You were the one who asked a perverted question so you're bound to get a perverted answer, especially from me!" France pointed his finger at the Briton.

"France, I'm sitting next to some pillows," England giggled his warning. "One more word about Germany in a mankini and I swear I will throw a pillow at you." Silence hung in the air as France curled his top lip.

"… Butt cheeks."

From that moment, the pillow made contact with the Frenchman's face with enough incredible force to knock him onto his back. He removed the pillow from his face and sat up to find the Briton laughing at him. Not to be outdone, France threw the pillow back at him and hit him on the front of his head.

"Oi!" England grabbed the pillow and glared at the Frenchman. They both stared at each other intensely until France bolted from his place off the bed. Giggling in excitement, England pursued him and whacked him on the back with the cushion he held onto. France bought his arm over the railing off the top bunk and armed himself with the pillow. He saw from the corner of his blue eyes England was ready to strike again. France spun around and blocked his blow. He swung his pillow to the side and hit the Briton on his ribs. Undeterred by this, England continued his onslaught on France's head. The Frenchman ducked, weaved and avoided most of his attacks. Laughing manically, he smacked the pillow into his ribs once more. The Briton was more concerned about protecting his head than any other part of his body and continued walloping the Frenchman on the head.

It was a while later before exhaustion got the better of both of them as they found themselves lying on the bottom bunk bed panting. Their chests rose up and down rapidly, their arms heavy and sore from hitting each other with the pillows and both their breathing was deep and audible.

"So much for that interview," England turned to face France who stared at the ceiling of the bunk bed.

"I don't think we ever had fun like this before," The Frenchman puffed. "Maybe we should fight with pillows instead of fists and guns from now on."

"I concur," England looked up. "It's a lot more entertaining and no-one gets hurt." Heavy breaths filled the air as they made eye contact with each other. All of the sudden they burst out laughing as though one had told a funny joke to the other. "I don't think we have the stamina like we used to," England finally spoke.

"Non," France shook his head. "I just think we weren't taking it as seriously as we usually do because we're not fighting over land or something important like that."

"Yeah," England gave a smile of satisfaction. "Nothing really important at all."


	6. They Grow Up So Quickly

"Ow… my arms are so sore…" France whinged as he chomped on a piece of buttered toast.

"Maybe we should have warmed up before we had that pillow fight," England rubbed his arm, before taking another piece of toast from a white plate that sat on a small table next to the sink. He took a bite from the toast and chewed it with a disgruntled expression. "Couldn't they at least have offered us jam or marmalade or something?"

"I agree this toast tastes a bit dull with just butter on them," France inspected the bread he had in his hand. "I think both of us are starting to miss the little things now that we don't have them. I wonder if anyone is taking care of the plants in my garden. I wouldn't want them to wilt because of my absence."

"I'm sure your garden is going to be fine," England reassured him flatly. "You can give your precious flowers the love and attention they deserve when we get out of here." France let out a melancholy sigh. The Briton could see he started to miss his home. After all, his feeling about home was mutual to the Frenchman. What wouldn't England give for a sip of a nice hot cup of tea and what wouldn't France give just to taste the crisp red wine?

"Britain, I never got to finish my answer to your question about swim suits for the G8 members." France's voice snapped the Briton back to reality. He quickly reminded himself of the strange conversation; that escalated into one where the Frenchman planted that disturbing image of Germany in his head.

"We are not going to talk about you know who in a you know what," He cringed.

"I'm not talking about Germany," France exclaimed. "I never got to say what swim wear I envisioned for you." At that moment, England froze.

"Me?" He croaked. "I never said you had to think of one for me."

"But you said for all of the G8 members and that definitely includes you," France pulled a mischievous grin. "You didn't think I'd leave you out, non?"

"Really, you don't have to."

"But I thought of the perfect thing for you!" Before England objected again, he paused.

"I am curious I suppose and as long as no-one else hears about it…" The Briton let out a sigh. "Alright France…. do your worst." France chortled in his French accent. "This can't end well," England thought. Whenever he laughed like that, everyone knew there would be trouble.

"Pour vous, I see you in… an orange boob-tube." England felt mortified when he heard the sentence.

"A boob-tube?" His voice wavered. France can definitely sleep, safe in the knowledge that he is the king of perverse things in the Briton's books.

"I feel that the lack of straps would flatter the top half of your body," France started. "And for some reason, I think orange looks good on you."

"I feel so… violated…" England stammered, clutching his arms tightly.

"I think you can at least pull that off better than Germany in a mankini."

"Shut up about Germany in fucking mankini!" England pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. France could see he was trying to shun the image of whatever the Briton thought he had imagined. He felt a bit guilty for putting him in that state so he gently shook England to at least jolt him back to reality.

"I tell you what Britain," France raised a comforting smile. "Since I've traumatised you that much, I'll give you a chance to think up a swim suit design for me."

"You're not helping," The Briton growled with his hands still covering his face.

"Oh come on Britain! You're getting as bad as Japan!" France scolded. "You can make it as ridiculous as you want!" There was a pause as England slowly removed his hands away from his face and rested his head on them. After spending some time in deep thought, he let out a quiet chuckle which relieved France at first but he was still nervous about what England would come up with.

"No, I'm not going to be that mean," The Briton finally turned his head to the Frenchman. "I'm thinking a red and purple candy stripe bikini and the straps cross at the back." France could see the cheeky smirk creep on the Englishman's lips as though he managed to claw back a victory. "So what do you think? Does the fashion from London rival the fashion of Paris?"

"London could never threaten the reputation of fashion in Paris," France flashed a smirk back. "But the design you came up with isn't bad. Not bad at all. I may have to patent that design for the next swim wear collection."

"Try it and I will sue you," England's finger wagged as a warning.

"Then what are you going to use the design for?" There was a pause before England's hand dropped onto the bed.

"On second thought, you can have it," He turned his head away leaving France to grin from ear to ear.

"Well let's continue where we left off with the random interview," The Frenchman suggested.

"Wait! We're still doing that?" England shot a look back at him.

"But of course!" The Frenchman extravagantly waved his hand. "We may not have asked much yesterday but it was certainly fun all the same. Besides, it's my turn to ask you one now."

"Oh get on with it," The Briton folded his arms.

"Alright; imagine that both of us and the rest of the G8 members are stranded on a desert island and we all get captured by wild, cannibalistic tribesmen." France started.

"It's not like we were stranded," England said.

"Anyways, the tribesmen tell us that the only way that we'll be spared is if we get married the tribe's priest. If you had to marry anyone of the G8 members, who would it be and why?"

"Can I just refuse to marry any of them and get eaten instead?" The Briton asked with an aghast expression.

"But suppose you had to marry someone, who would you establish the special bond with? Who would you want to spend the rest of your life cherishing until death do you apart?" France urged him.

"Alright! Alright!" England waved his hands in a flustered manner. "If I my neck was being pierced by the spears of those barbarians… I would choose America."

"I knew it!" France gasped in excitement. "Deny it all you want but I know you have this special relationship going on with him!"

"It's not like that!" England snapped before looking down onto the floor and clasped his hands together. "It's not that I would marry him or anything like that! It's just someone would have to look after him and the only people who can tolerate his obnoxiousness is me and Japan. If he could, Japan would find some way to escape and live as a hermit in a cave. So since he would be completely out of the question, it would be up to me to do make sure America doesn't get himself into trouble." France's expression softened and slowly took in what England had said.

"You still treat him like he's still your little brother," He finally said softly. The Briton's cheeks flushed a darker shade of red.

"W-well, I don't know why he chose me over you for a start," He stammered. "I thought for sure he was going to choose you when you offered him that slop of yours."

"I thought so too," France closed his eyes and snapped them back open when he processed the Briton's last sentence. "What do you mean slop! My food tastes far superior to the mess you make!"

"Your food mainly consists of garden pests!" England challenged. "If I was America, I'd certainly turn my nose up at them!"

"So why did he choose you?" France said in a serious tone. "Apparently you offered him nothing that can beat my cooking and yet he went to you. What did you do that convinced him that you'd make a better brother than I would have done? You put on those fake tears so you could guilt him into choosing you." England could hear the resentment in the sound of the Frenchman's voice. He knew that if America chose France as his older brother, he would gloat about how he had the privilege to become his guardian to no end. This even puzzled the Briton for a minute as he thought back to the day that changed his life.

He and France finally agreed to settle their dispute over America would be to let him make that life changing decision since they couldn't settle it like gentlemen. England cringed at the attempt he made when he put on that creepy voice that made the poor child cry. Why he thought it was a good idea remained mystery and France didn't help the matter when he tempted America with his gourmet cooking. With nothing else that could persuade the child, England curled up in defeat. It was only moments later that he heard the child's timid voice bring him back from wallowing in self-pity.

_"Are you okay?"_

England slowly returned his mind to the cell with France staring at him with a stern expression. The Briton placed one foot on the bunk bed and rested his head his knee, his hands cushioned his chin.

"Children are a lot cleverer than we think they are," England started calmly. "They can sense whenever something seems wrong with someone or something and that makes them worry. Maybe America knew I was sad because I couldn't offer him anything that can surpass your cooking and…" England's bottom lip curled. For some reason, he felt like he wanted to shed a few tears. But he bit his lip just to stop himself from doing so. There was a rule England enforced on himself; never cry or show any weakness in front of France. He simply didn't allow himself to do such a thing. He breathed out through his mouth slowly which stopped his urge to let any tears escape.

"You hoped he'd give you something that you British people could be proud of, c'est exactement?" France managed to finish the sentence for him. England turned to the Frenchman in surprise.

"How the bloody hell did you know what I was going to say?"

"Because like you, I felt the exact same feeling when taking care of Canada even though you were also involved in his upbringing," France bought both feet onto the bed and wrapped his arms around his legs.

"Who?" England kinked his eyebrow.

"Canada!" France spat in annoyance. "Honestly Britain, if I hadn't have been there for him you would have neglected the poor boy! You were probably too busy with America to even think about Canada."

"I was busy with my empire at the time!" England frowned. "I couldn't be at several places all at once!"

"But that still doesn't give you the excuse to neglect a child who needed someone who look after them! Mathieu was just un enfant!" France shouted. His feet stomped on the floor startling England. The Briton couldn't make out France's expression from the blonde hair that trailed over his profile but the hands hinted anger to him.

France's fists clenched and shook. There were plenty of times when France got angry at him but this aura of anger sent shivers down England's spine. Never was he so unsure how to react to this rage that he could practically feel the heat radiating from France. The Briton's lips trembled until he saw France's hand relax and open. England couldn't understand what was going on as France slumped onto the bed and rested his arms on his lap.

"F-France?" England stuttered.

"Every time I saw his smiling face, it warms mon coeur so much," France's voice strained as though he was holding back tears of his own. "When I held his tiny body in my arms, I bathed in a warm glow that I simply cannot describe. That must be how you felt when you cradled America I thought. The only sad thing about it all was that he rejected me and went to you. I thought maybe if you had him, I could at least be happy with Mathieu. But having little money was the problem and…" He turned and graced England with a melancholic smile, his blues slightly watery. "You must have been devastated when America declared himself independent, non? But by then you had full custody of Mathieu because I could no longer provide for him." England's expression softened and reflected a gentle smile back at the Frenchman.

"Letting children leave the nest… is a hard thing to do for a guardian."

"And yet it is necessary in order for them to grow," France leant back and gazed at the ceiling. "When you had full custody of Mathieu, I was worried you might neglect him because you often forgot about him and you focused more on work. But, I knew that dreaded day would come; the day that every parent, guardian and even elder brothers dread. Otherwise, how can they grow up to be men?"

"Canada has grown into a fine, kind young man," England chuckled. "I think he has you to thank for that."

"America has become stronger aussi," France locked his fingers together. "He has your determination I assure you. You should be proud at what he's achieved."

Both of them sighed as though they found some form of conclusion. They relished in the cosy sensation they seem to have found themselves in. England turned to France.

"Let's stop the interview there. It's making me feel really depressed." He murmured to which France nodded in agreement.

"Then we shall leave it at that." France beamed.


	7. Purple Flags

"Ohhh," England groaned at the mirror, as he rubbed his hand all over his chin and inspected his jaw from every angle. "I think I'm starting to grow stubble."

"What's wrong with having a beard?" France asked while buttoning his pale pink shirt up. "You wouldn't have to worry about shaving, or are you afraid the ghost of that French-hating bishop will haunt you because beards are as sinful as long hair now?"

"No, but maybe Wolfstan's influence makes me not want to grow one at all," England glanced at France and resumed rubbing his chin. "Besides, I think having a beard would be rather inconvenient and having crumbs of food trapped in facial hair would be rather disgusting."

"You don't have to grow a long beard. You can grow a goatee like mine," France stroked the strands of hair that grew from his chin. The Briton turned to him and furrowed his thick eye brows.

"Oh yes," England said with a hint of sarcasm. "Because I really want to base my looks on you."

"You wanted to grow your hair like mine that time," France reminded him with a smirk. England rapidly turned his back on the mirror.

"I was young, naïve and didn't know better," He quickly said.

"But you still wanted to join the bandwagon as they say."

"I did that to try and make you jealous."

"Or did you want to impress me?" France pulled a suggestive smile. England's hand hovered over the shaving mousse that sat on the sink and hesitated on his comeback.

"Shut up! I said I wanted to make you jealous! I wasn't trying to impress anyone in particular!" He rubbed the mousse onto his jaw which transformed into white foam.

"Angleterre, that is the worst lie you can possibly come up with," France sat with his legs crossed. "Making me jealous wasn't your only reason." At that moment, England's hand stopped raising the razor to his face. His fingers on his free hand curled around the edge of the basin.

"Of course it was France," He said with a quieter volume. "There was no other reason for it. Now shut up and let me shave." There was a pause between the two while the Briton stroked the razor down his cheek.

"You were quite upset when I kindly cut your hair," France finally stated. This made the Englishman stop shaving once more.

"I wasn't upset," He said in an unnaturally calm yet suppressed voice before whipping his head around with a look that Medusa would have envied. "I WAS PISSED OFF! Do you know how fucking long it took me to grow it while being hunted up and down the bloody country! Six months France! SIX! BLOODY! MONTHS!" France at this point, slightly cowered at the sheer change of volume from the Briton. If sound could cause physical damage, France was sure he would have crashed against the wall and punched a multiple amount of times until he lost consciousness. "It was going to be great even though it looked crappy at first and you cut it all! OFF!"

"In my defence," France said weakly. "You didn't like the first two haircuts."

"THAT'S NOT THE BLOODY POINT YOU WANKER!" England continued waving the razor dangerously close to the Frenchman's face. "I wanted to look stylish and cool so I could fit in with everybody else! But no! YOU hacked it all off! YOU! BLOODY! WANKER!" The Briton's chest heaved up and down and pointed the razor an inch away from France's nose. The Frenchman twitched nervously as beads of sweat crept down his brow.

"Um… could you point that thing away from me… si vous plait?" France stuttered. "You still have mousse on your face…"

"… Wanker," England sedated his voice and returned to his shaving near the sink. Behind him, France quivered in fear.

"He wanted to kill me… He wanted to kill me…" He kept mumbling in his head.

The next few hours passed without a single word between the two countries. And quite rightly so in France's opinion; he was afraid that a simple 'are you alright' would be his last words.

He remembered the day when he found England disguised as the golden caterpillar. He could recall feeling flattered that England of all people wanted to copy him in terms of style so he couldn't help but offer his services to fix the Briton's bad hair. France admitted to himself he was annoyed when England rejected his first attempts and in a childish retribution, hacked his hair to its original state. It was rare for France to do anything nice for Britain and in his mind, the little brat deserved it. How was he supposed to know what England had to go through in order to grow his locks, and how was he supposed to know that he still felt sore about it? But at one point in England's rant, there was a very small twinge of guilt that nipped inside the Frenchman (although he more concerned with the distance between him and the razor). If he remembered right, there was something the Briton did say that made his heart sink for a second.

"I wanted to look stylish and cool so I could fit in with everybody else!"

It's amazing how much France can recollect while being threatened with a sharp implement. But it was that sentence alone which caught his ears. Could it be that England wanted to grow his hair long because he wanted attention? Or maybe it was because he felt… lonely? The more France thought about it, the more it made sense: everyone knew that he goes into his own little world and talks to his invisible friends. When they say that they don't exist, he would immediately act defensive saying how they were just as real as the personifications of countries themselves.

France also knew losing America was a painful time for him; England's smiles were of genuine happiness whenever he visited and spent time with him. Watching the American grow into a man must have been the happiest time of his life; so when America declared his independence, England was devastated not because he lost the war but because he was losing the one thing that made him happy.

And then there was Canada and France sighed at the thought. He reminisced about whenever they shared Matthew; he had to prize him off the possessive Briton in order to have any form of contact with the child. It was like he didn't want to go through the pain of losing Matthew like he did with Alfred (which was odd because half the time he forgot that Matthew even existed). But difference was that he let Matthew have the choice of leaving him to become independent. Maybe it was because as a parent or older brother, he had learnt the hard way of letting their young leave the nest to start embarking on their own lives. France knew this well seeing as he had to let Matthew go and live with England because he could longer provide for them both.

"Unconditional love," France thought in his head. "It's powerful enough to make a man; woman and child smile with happiness and weep with sorrow."

"Do you think so Tinkerbelle? I wouldn't put it past him to say things like that," France could hear England on the top bunk. Who was he talking about? And more to the point, who was he talking to? The Frenchman was right in thinking he was talking to one of his invisible friends. It was kind of sad for France to listen him speaking to nothing but air after thinking about how lonely he must feel. "You're right Flying Mint Bunny. I suppose I was a bit brash of me. The effects of being stuck inside here must be taking their toll."

"Brash? There was nothing brash about it! I thought you were going to chop me up into little pieces with a razor!" France uttered under his breath. This made England look down onto the Frenchman.

"Did you say something France?" He asked with a surprisingly neutral face. France was surprised how calm England was considering the amount of overflowing rage that he emitted earlier.

"Um… nothing," France managed to say. But just as England was going to turn away, France had the urge to call him back. "Actually, there is something I wanted to say." England apologised to thin air before turning back to the Frenchman.

"Well, what is it?" His arms cushioned his head from the railings on the top bunk. Now that he had the Briton's attention, France had to think of something to talk about fast. He wasn't sure why he was desperately trying to socialise with England but at the moment, all he could think about was plucking a topic to talk about out of thin air.

"Um… did you notice that if you mixed all the colours on our flags, they'd make purple?" France made sure he worded his sentence right.

"Yes, I think everybody knows that France. What are you trying to say?" England frowned with a slight annoyance which made France mentally slap himself. Why did he have to go and say something as random and as silly as that? France knew that he had to make something up while he's got the ball rolling.

"Well... a lot of people associate that colour with royalty and nobility," He continued in hopes that England would miraculously join in with the discussion.

"I know that. I wasn't the only one who saw kings and queens wear purple in medieval times." The Briton rolled his eyes. The pressure mounted on France to try and keep the conversation a float as he fidgeted with his fingers.

"Um… that is…it's a very sophisticated colour isn't it?" France pulled an uneasy smile. He definitely knew he was pushing it and from the look on England's face, he was becoming impatient.

"Is that all you've got to say?" He inquired. "Right now you're not making a lot of sense and it's starting to irritate me." This was France's last chance to come up with something to rile the Briton more than he already did.

"Why can't he see that I am genuinely trying to be friendly with him?" The Frenchman mulled over until he stopped at something that struck him in a form of a ding sound. He looked up to the Englishman with a gentle smile. "You've just reminded me of something I've read in a book once. Purple is also a colour associated with sharing, sympathy and friendship." England's eyebrows relaxed as he gazed at France in confusion. "What are you going on about?" He uttered to which France quietly chuckled in response.

"Britain, do you know why I wore the purple cape and red pantalon?" The Frenchman asked with a sense of quiet confidence. "Apart from those colours symbolising nobility and being upper class, both of those colours have another thing they have in common, they also signify passion; meaning a great enthusiasm for something or basically a strong emotion. That's something that I have been associated with for a long time."

England looked towards the window before glancing back at France. "Passion…" he murmured.

"Passion towards loving your country and fighting for it when it is threatened," France continued. "The three colours on both our flags that make purple, reflect this view perfectly. Blue: even though it is mostly associated with sadness, it can denote happiness and optimism like when you look up to the blue sky. For red, it can mean aggression, danger and the blood that is sometimes spilled, but at the same time it is the colour of love, beauty and courage. And finally white: it is a simple colour but one that implies innocence, purity and peace."

"Whether all of those colours reflect our countries perfectly or not, it doesn't change the fact that when you mix them all together they make the passionate purple." England stared at France in what could only be described as astonishment. The Briton blinked several times.

"How is it that you say the strangest things at appropriate times yet you say the most appropriate things at the strangest moments?" Was all the Briton could finally ask. France could see from the expression on his face that he was still in a state of bemusement.

"Because Britain, this place is depressing us and I was merely trying to cheer us both up," France answered. England turned away from the Frenchman. Had he accidently upset Britain again? France was about to say something to remedy the situation when he heard England… giggling? Out from nowhere, the Briton burst into laughter. This reaction left France a little confused but as long as he wasn't going get attacked, he didn't complain.

"You are a strange person France!" England wheezed. "What the bloody hell were you going on about, you strange little man?"

"Says the person who finds chasing a roll of cheese down a very steep slope entertaining!" France said in an agitated tone.

"You stick fish onto people's backs for April Fools!" England chortled.

"Those fish are made out of paper," France corrected him.

Both of them quietened for a moment before they both erupted into a roar of laughter. They rocked forwards and backwards clutching their aching stomachs and kept their eyes tightly closed.

"Why… are we… laughing?" France sniggered and was barely able to construct the sentence.

"I don't… know…" Tears rolled down England's cheeks. "We are… very strange people…" France tucked his blonde locks behind his own ears.

"But then again, what is strange?" The Frenchman asked.

Evening approached later and France lay asleep on his side in the bed. He cuddled the blanket to keep in the warmth until he heard a voice invade his dreams.

"France? France. Oi, frog!"

The Frenchman groaned in annoyance as he slowly bought himself back to his waking state. He rolled onto his back and looked up to find England hanging his head over the rail of the top bunk.

"What do you want?" France rubbed his eyes.

"Um… I was going to say this earlier but…thank you. For… um…cheering me up." England whispered.

"It was nothing," The Frenchman exhaled. "I thought that I might have upset you when I didn't mean to and I'm glad both of us could have a laugh in a bleak situation like this one."

"We've been through worse though," England said.

"I know but the only thing you can do in a bad situation is laugh," France replied. "How do you think I managed to keep going with the amount of loses I've had?" The Briton chuckled.

"It's odd but I've laughed a lot more here than I have ever done before," He commented. "I wonder why that is." France knew the answer to that but before he could say it, England's head disappeared into his bed and said his good night. The Frenchman positioned his hands behind his head and closed his eyes and gave a relieved sigh.

"It's because we are making the best out of a bad situation," He uttered to himself before drifting off to his long awaited sleep.


	8. Roleplaying under the Sky

It had been many days since the two countries received a task from Germany and the others. It must have been because they were biding their time from the incident with the hidden camera and the microphone. So it came as a surprise when a mysterious box with an envelope taped on top, was randomly shoved through the latch at the bottom of the door.

"Do you think they got bored and decided to toy with us with a task?" France crouched down to pick the box up.

"If they did, it took them a long while," England flushed the toilet and made his way to the sink. Once France plopped himself onto the bed, he tore the envelope from the box and pulled the paper out of it. "Well? What does it say?" England flicked the water from his hands into the sink and grabbed the hand towel.

"It says: 'The items for your next task can be found in the box that has accompanied this envelope," France read as he let England pull the box off his lap. "Using these items, you are to role-play as each other and impersonate how your partner acts in general accurately, so making them act out of character is strictly not allowed. Along with the letter, there are scenarios you have to act out in order and a list of prompts should you get stuck for ideas. If you succeed, you can expect a treat coming your way. Fail and you'll receive nothing. P.S: You may have destroyed the last camera and microphone but we have other ways of keeping an eye on you. So they haven't given up on trying to spy on us?"

"What the bloody hell are these meant to be?" France turned away from the letter to find England holding two peach coloured hand puppets that resembled themselves. In all honesty, the Frenchman was impressed with the craftsmanship and how accurately the puppets were portrayed; from the yellow wool tasselling down like France's real hair right to the thickness of England's eye brows that was stitched with the greatest of care.

"Italy must have made these," France slipped the hand puppet on his hand like a glove and brushed the yellow wool on the puppet England's head. "He's always been good at things like arts and crafts. He's even got your caterpillar eye brows right."

"My eye brows do not look like caterpillars! They're just very thick!" The Briton exclaimed, gloving his hand with the France puppet.

"Why haven't you considered waxing them?" France asked, leaving England in an awkward pause.

"Oh shut up and read the first scenario," he ordered as the Frenchman turned to the piece of stapled to the back of the letter.

"It's morning and you're having breakfast together. What would happen?. I have a feeling this is not going to go well." France rubbed his forehead.

"You and me both," England nodded his head. "And now we have another hidden camera watching us. I feel somewhat too self-conscious to start."

"Then in that case, I shall begin our little breakfast scene," France announced and cleared his throat. "Bloody hell France! Why are you prancing around the kitchen naked! You're blinding my poor prudish eyes!" The Frenchman shook the puppet as though it was in distress, squawking in what could have been the worst attempt at a British accent.

"What!" England's face lifted in shock. "I do not talk like that!"

"Oh come on Britain! We have to do this or we won't get whatever the treat is!" France returned to his French enunciation. "And speaking in a British accent is hard for a Frenchman like me but I'm making the effort at least!"

"Alright fine," The Briton coughed before gliding the France hand puppet in a fast motion. "Hon hon hon! What is wrong about showing off the 'uman body in all of its glory! Were we born bearing clothes when we took our first breath out of the womb of our mothers! NON! So I see no reason why I should clothe myself!" France screwed his face in disgust and stopped waving the England puppet.

"That was the worst display of a French accent I have ever had the misfortune to hear," He said monotonously.

"Hey! I'm trying to make the effort here without butchering your language!" England scowled. "If my queen was in this cell right now, she would have died from shock of your appalling attempt at her English!"

"Then I would have to apologise to her later as we have to do this task if we are to succeed," France reprimanded the Briton. "And need I remind you that there is a camera somewhere in this cell?"

England groaned in defeat. "Fine. But as soon as this task is over, I think we better swear to never speak in each other's accents ever again."

"Agreed," France nodded his head. "Now that's been settled, I think we should continue." The Briton cringed at the impending slaughter of his beloved language as the Frenchman shook the England puppet once more. "Waltzing into the kitchen naked is indecent not to mention unhygienic! Now go put some clothes on before you put me off having breakfast!"

"Fine!" England spat and jerked the France puppet forward. "I will go and dress myself in my fashionable attire so all the pretty girls can admire my gorgeous self even though they are just brightly coloured rags!" France was about to interject with a comeback for the Briton's comment when England's puppet waddled back. "So what do we 'ave for le breakfast?"

"I've baked some scones for this morning," France smirked. "Even though they're clearly burnt and inedible, I still think I'm a better cook than you!"

"No-one is a better cook than moi!" England suppressed a growl. "I wouldn't eat these scones even if you paid me to! You should have baked them with some slugs and snails to enhance the flavour!"

"Ugh! Slugs and snails are disgusting! I can't believe you prefer them on a plate than in a garden!"

"How do you know you British pansy? You've never tasted them before!"

"That's because they're slimy, dirty insects that raid vegetable patches and try to eat all of our vegetables!"

Suddenly, England gave a sigh of exhaustion. "I don't know about you," he returned to his British accent. "But I think this argument is starting get very boring, wouldn't you say?"

As strange as the Frenchman found when he heard the Briton say that of all things, he nodded his head in agreement. "Oui. Shall we move onto the next scenario?" England didn't argue and let France read out the next item on the list.

Both countries acted out the many scenarios that were posed against them as they reacted to each of their comments and motioned the hand puppets where they thought were appropriate. It was a while later that they reached the final scenario on the list; England and France want to watch a film but can't decide which one to choose.

"You got to pick the film last week! It's only fair that I get to choose it this time!" France continued to butcher the British accent with his puppet.

"As long as it's not one of those silly fantasy films about wizards, dragons and magic things, I'll be happy to let you choose."

"They're not silly! They're epic masterpieces that engross you into the world that can only exist in one's imagination! All you French watch is romantic comedies or chick flicks! They're so boring that I can fall asleep through them!"

"You do not understand the power of l'amour and 'ow it can overcome anything that stands in anyone's way! You British people seem to prefer watching things explode into fire and people fighting to the death in epic battles. There just isn't any substance in that."

"That's because we waste most of our money on special effects with these CGI thingies instead of focusing on the actual plot themselves." France smirked which made England wince. In reaction to the comment, he manipulated the France puppet to pull the England puppet off the Frenchman's hand and tossed him across the other side of the cell. Not to be deterred by the Briton's sudden outburst, France's now bare hand swiftly snatched the hand puppet from his hand and threw it near where the England puppet landed. The two countries stared at the lifeless hand puppets lying on the floor of what could only be described as a brief sadness.

"You do realise that we've just chucked ourselves across the room?" England finally uttered.

"Oui," France answered with a sigh. "We've been in here for too long."

Suddenly, they heard tapping sounds and the sliding of the top latch on the metal door.

"Knock knock," a pair of violet eyes peered through the gap. Immediately, the inmates recognised the owner of the distinctive Russian dialect.

"Oh, Russia. What do you want?" England inquired as he and France stood up and approached the door.

The silver haired Russian beamed his usual child-like smile. "Oh nothing. I just came down here to see if you two have killed each other yet. Surprisingly, both of you are all in one piece."

"What do you mean 'have we killed each other yet'?" England exclaimed. "If you fellows didn't want any of us to die, you shouldn't have thrown us in here in the first place!"

"Da, in such a confined space with your worst enemy, you're bound to give into your desire to get rid of them once and for all." Russia giggled which made France and England feel a little nervous. "And since you two demolished the bugs, we were worried that might have been the case."

"Well at least you can report to everyone that we are alive and well for now at least," France said giving a quick apprehensive glance at England. "So is that all you came here for?"

"Not quite," Russia beamed again. "If you are done with those hand puppets, I'll be taking them away now, da?"

England wasted no time in picking up both the puppets laid out onto the floor and placing them along with the papers back into the cardboard box they came from. In one swift motion, he slipped the box under the lower hatch of the door. The violet eyes disappeared from the gap for a moment before they returned.

"You know? It's good to indulge yourself in some childish fantasies once in a while," Russia spoke cheerfully. "It makes you forget the stresses of being a country or even an adult. But no matter how much you want to cling onto those childish dreams, you will constantly be reminded of the cruel and harsh reality that we call 'life'. That's why we should have as much fun as possible because when the end really does come, we won't regret living life the way we wanted to."

At that moment, both England and France felt a sudden chill shiver all over themselves. How can he say something so serious with that childish grin on his face; was what both of them thought. Whether or not his traumatic past had anything to do with what he just said, it still provoked an uncomfortable reaction. Russia gave a soft chuckle before he decided it was time for him to leave.

"I'll be leaving now da," He shut the top latch. "Have fun."

"Um, Russia?" France said which thankfully stopped the Russian before closing the porthole. "There's a spider crawling on your shoulder."

"Spider?" The silver haired man searched himself before finding the said spider sitting on his shoulder. "It's alright. I don't mind them. Now I really must be going. Hopefully next time we'll see you, you'll still be alive." He gave one last smile before closing the port hole. Russia's words still resonated in the minds of both inmates until England turned to France.

"Hey France… do you remember when we were panicking because you told me someone predicted the year the world was going to end?" England softly spoke.

France bowed his head. "It was so long ago but I remember it well. Since I've never been able to conquer you, I asked whether I could hold onto you when that day came."

"Yes. How you managed to convince me I'll never know." The Briton exhaled.

"We were God fearing citizens back in the medieval days," France reminded him with a smile. "I remember when we both sat in that field just gazing at the sky and reminiscing about everything we did and talked about what heaven would look like."

"Yes, it was actually the first time that we talked to each other properly. No insults, no arguments, just talking." At that moment, England's head jerked and expressed confusion. "Why did you want to spend your last few days with me? You could have spent it with someone you didn't hate and you'd have to cross the sea in order to reach my land."

"Well like I said, I wanted to at least conquer you before judgement day," France continued. "But it's strange, even though that was my ultimate goal I completely forgot about it when we started talking. It was as if we had been friends for a long time. To be honest, if I could go back to that day and had the choice of visiting anyone, I still would have spent my last day with you."

"Really?" England blinked with surprise. This was turning out to be a shock for him but France continued to smile.

"But of course. I don't know why but that's what I would do if that day ever came."

"And to think when the day the world was supposed to have ended came, nothing happened. It turned out to be one big hoax." England ruffled his straw like blonde hair. "My did I feel foolish when we panicked for no reason."

France let out a nervous chuckle. "Ouais. You never did forgive me for saying that sort of thing to you."

"That's why I try not to believe anyone who claims to know when Armageddon would arrive." The Briton leant back until he saw France stand and walk over the three barred window. At first he wondered whether the Frenchman felt sad about the whole conversation but hid those feelings with a smile. He knew back then France was serious about the whole ordeal; because he was and still is very religious despite the Briton questioning it because of his lustful perversity plenty of times. However, England couldn't help respect him for still having some faith in religion. The Briton felt that over time he lost interest because he started questioning God's existence like if he was so benevolent, why do people still suffer? He hadn't given up on it one hundred per cent but these days; people just don't seem to take much notice of religion.

"In a way, Russia does have a point about having as much fun as possible. I think that's how Italy stays cheerful through a lot of things," France spoke pulling England away from his musings. "He lives such a carefree life even though there are a lot of problems in the world. It seems he is able to smile so much because he see things with his heart, not his eyes. I hope that one day I'll be able to do the same."

"What's gotten you so philosophical all of the sudden?" England heaved himself from the bed and stood beside France next to the window.

"Je ne sais pas," The Frenchman murmured as his left hand grabbed the window sill. "But the sky outside looks promising, non?" The Briton felt confused with how France was acting but at least it was better than him insulting him or thinking perverse thoughts while he gazed through the window.

"Well you did say the skies' shade of blue signifies optimism," England turned his head to the window and stared into what he could see of the azure sky.

"So you're going to watch it with me?" France asked. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

"No," England replied. "I think it's nice to just stop and stare at something once in a while."

!

"Oh man! Britain and France are so funny when they want to be!" America roared with laughter. "Man, they look so stupid playing with those hand puppets! It's hilarious!"

Japan groaned as he strained to hear the audio from the speakers.

"Does America have to be so obnoxiously loud?" He wondered. He needed to assess whether or not they both passed the task for a start, and he was finding it hard to concentrate on the video when the American cackled beside him. "America-san! Please lower your volume! I can't hear anything they're saying!" Japan scolded in the most polite tone possible.

"Sorry Japan but you have to admit those two are funny together!" America chuckled as he clung onto his stomach. "Ow! My stomach! It's aching! Ow!"

"Then concentrate on watching the video instead of hurting yourself with laughter!" Japan frowned.

"Japan!" A high-pitch voice shrilled as the Japanese man felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned his head to find a miniature version of Italy displaying his goofy smile back at him. Japan gasped and jolted back a little bit before looking back up at Italy beaming his normal gleaming grin.

"Italy-san, what is that?" Japan pointed at what looked like a hand puppet of Italy on the Italian's hand.

"It's a hand puppet of me!" Italy beamed holding up his gloved hand. "I thought since I made England and France one, I should make hand puppets for the rest of us." Japan was about to interject when the Italian bought out more hand puppets; which more or less looked like the rest those who were partaking in Germany's plan.

"You really didn't have to go through all that trouble," Japan groaned as the auburn haired man flashed different hand puppets at him.

"But they were so fun to make!" Italy said in excitement and held up a hand puppet that looked like Germany. "This one's for Germany," he explained as he held up a grey haired puppet, "This one's Russia." Italy went through another few puppets before exclaiming "I also made one for you too Japan" and handed over a hand puppet with short black hair with Japan's distinctive features to the man himself. The Japanese blinked for a moment and blushed.

"Um… arigato," Was all he could manage.

"AHAHAHAHAHA! They just threw themselves across the room!" America laughed while thumping the table with his fist.

"B-be careful America-san! You'll squash the-"

*CRACK*

Japan froze and widened his eyes in horror as America removed his hand from what was a realistic looking spider with a very small camera implant. Now it laid in tiny pieces on the table.

"M-my camera…" Japan's voice wavered. America looked down to see the damage he had caused before giggling nervously.

"S-sorry…" He apologised weakly.

Japan glared at America with anger in his eyes. "You shall have no forgiveness!" He shouted before slipping the Japan puppet on his right hand and started attacking the American with it. America tried to defend himself against the Japanese man's jabs at random places on his body by using his own arms as a shield.

"Japan! Stop it! It tickles!" America cried. "Ow! That really hurts! Stop it! AAHH!"

"Ooh! Puppet Italy wants to join too!" The Italian squealed with glee and started to poke the American with his hand puppet along with Japan.

"No! Stop it!" America cried waving his own hand puppet to deflect their attacks. "Puppet America! Save me!"

!

**AUTHORS NOTE:** Hey guys! Akira Cat speaking. I would like to take this chance to say thank you so much for reading and reviewing 'Two Countries One World'. I hope you're having as much fun reading this as I'm having writing it.

I have such a long way to go before I finish it but I'm letting you guys know that uni-work is keeping me from updating this as much as you and I want to. But until then I hope you'll stick with me until the end.


	9. Crisises Brings People Closer Together

England couldn't get to sleep. Thoughts of his experience in the cell so far had prevented him from dozing off; from the weird tasks they were forced to complete to the even more bizarre conversations. His hands cushioned his head as he gazed at the grey ceiling.

"Who would have thought that frog and I could actually stay in the same room without fighting?" he thought to himself. In fact, he couldn't help but think he opened himself to France more than he would have preferred or realised for that matter. The Briton wasn't one for talking to anyone about his past and to think he confessed to that frog a lot more than anyone else. He did admit that France had opened up to him a few times and it's more than likely he would have felt the same way about revealing his true feelings to him. A strange feeling of understanding and compassion for France settled inside of England as he lay in the top bunk, forcing himself to sleep.

_"No... no please!"_ The Briton scowled. He didn't think the Frenchman would talk in his sleep since he had not been known to do it. Not that he knew everyone's sleeping patterns but France's mumbling assured that England was not going to get any sleep. _"Italy… Please don't do this. You are too pure and innocent to cause anyone harm."_ The Englishman hung his head over the rails and frowned, only to soften his expression when he found France on his side in a foetal position. The Frenchman clutched the blankets tightly and occasionally bobbed his face in and out of them.

_"You don't have to follow Germany's orders! I don't want you to corrupt you innoncence! I don't care if I get hurt as long as you don't hurt anyone else!"_ It was clear from France's whimpering that he was in distress as tears started to roll down his cheeks. Wasting no time, England climbed down from the top bunk and knelt beside the Frenchman.

"France! Wake up you git!" The Briton shook him in the hope that he would stir him from his nightmare but France rolled onto his back, snapping his head to and fro frantically.

_"Even if you hurt me or anyone else, I know it's not your fault! You were just following orders! Even if everyone tarnishes you with the same brush as Germany, I will forgive you! I will forgive you because you never meant to cause anyone pain! You just had no choice but to obey!"_ France cried burying his face in the blankets once more.

"Dammit! He's not waking up!" England seethed as he spun around and made his way to the sink.

_"You never belonged on a battlefield Italy; you are too innocent for that. When you get the opportunity, run away before you are tainted by Germany's actions!"_ The screaming turned into sobs while the desperate Briton filled a cup with water.

_"Run like you always have done before it's too late!"_ France shrieked as England finally bought the water to the bed.

"FRANCE! WAKE UP YOU BLOODY GIT!" The Briton shouted, throwing the water in France's direction. As soon as it made contact with his face, the Frenchman lurched forward and gasped for air. His trembling hands still clung the blanket close to his chest. His didn't grasp the fact that it was soaked with water until held felt England nudge him on the arm.

"Are you right old chap?" The Briton asked in a consoling manner. "You were crying in your sleep and you looked like you were having a nightmare."

France's dropped the blanket onto his thigh as his quaking hands gently touched his dripping face. Only realising that he had water thrown at him, his hands floated down onto the blankets again.

"I had that same dream again… zut," France finally mustered.

!

After the Frenchman dried himself off, England decided to make it up to him by letting him sit on the top bunk with him. While they waited for his bedding to dry out, both countries sat with their backs against the wall just staring into space. They stayed silent for a long time mainly because England wasn't sure whether he should ask France about the nightmare, in case he was afraid to speak about it. The Briton recalled him mentioning Italy, 'l'Allemange' (which he remembered meant Germany in French) and 'la guerre' meaning war. That one word gave the Briton a good idea of what the nightmare involved. But he didn't want to jump to conclusions in case he was wrong. So he took the initiative to break the long silence.

"So what was the dream about?" England finally asked resting his elbows on his crossed legs. He glanced over to France who hugged his knees, his blue, glazed eyes gazing at his bare feet.

"Why would you want to know?" The Frenchman mumbled.

"You were screeching gibberish that I couldn't understand for a start," The Briton said. "It must have been quite frightening for you to react the way you did." France shifted his position slightly before answering.

"Even though I only have that dream once in a blue moon, it still haunts me whenever I have it," he started. "I am of course talking about the invasion of Paris. To be more specific, it was the dream of a time when I was captured and tortured by Germany."

"Oh," England bit his lip with guilt. He knew straight away when France was talking about; during World War two, a time of fear and uncertainty; one which literally changed the face of the world forever.

"Well, I say captured and tortured by Germany," France started again. "But the memory I dreamt of was more frightening because Germany got someone else to hurt me instead."

"Italy?" The Briton's eyes widened with horror. He may not have known a lot of French but he knew that France must have been talking to Italy in his dream. "But he isn't the type to hurt a fly, let alone any person. And with you… he always called you 'big brother France'. Why would he hurt you all of a sudden?"

"He wouldn't," The Frenchman said straight away. "At that time, he was ordered by Germany to do the deed. You could say that Germany found a cruel way of keeping me on the edge when I got bored of him. In the dream, Germany gave his riding crop to Italy and ordered him to give me fifty lashes with it. I could see in the eyes of mon frère that he did not want to carry the task out. Tears streamed down his cheeks and I could hear him whimper. I don't know who was more scared, me or Italy?" France took several deep breaths which worried England.

"It's alright, you don't have to talk about it if you don't-"

"I told Italy that he never belonged on any battlefield," The Frenchman continued. "I told him that he was too innocent for war. I could tell from the fear in his face he wanted to listen and give the whip back to Germany, but I remember that he was instructed not to listen to whatever I had to say. But I think he did understand some of the things I said because he apologised to me, before he started appealing to God for forgiveness in his native language… all while…I think you get the idea."

England looked down and felt guiltier than before. He remembered how quiet and modest France acted after the war ended and how he wanted to make sure Germany got what he deserved. But when Italy was facing judgement from the rest of the allies, the Frenchman begged them to take pity on him. Fortunately the combination of France's compassionate pleas and Italy's genuine tears and apologies of remorse, he got off lightly compared to Germany and Japan.

Then England's thoughts turned to the damage Germany did to his country. The Briton also went through a period of constantly having those nightmares of his homeland being destroyed each night he slept; the howling air raid sirens, many buildings were destroyed to the point of ruin and innocent people, who have done nothing wrong, lost their lives. In a way, they both suffered a lot during that scary, uncertain time.

England shook his head to bring himself back to reality and bought his knees up so he could lay his arms across them.

"Some people have said that Hitler studied mesmerism so he could convince people he was right," The Briton murmured. "They said that in his speeches, he'd speak softly and calmly to put people in a trance-like state, and then all of a sudden he'd go off on a rant about his ideals about creating the perfect race and eradicating those who he thought didn't fit in. In normal circumstances, many people wouldn't have it but because of his techniques, many of the people in the country agreed with him. Whether Germany did fall victim to his spell is unknown but either way, he was forced to fight."

"That still doesn't excuse him for what he did," France said with an agitated tone. "He knew what he did was wrong but he still kept doing it. He reminds me of that annoying guy Holy Roman Empire."

"Oh yes," England scratched his head. "You said you used to fight with him a lot; over Italy if I'm not mistaken."

France gave a huff and made eye contact with the Englishman. "He was always obsessed with Italy even when there were other countries to invade. Italy may have had fertile lands, mild weather and a rich history of arts but he didn't search further afield."

"Didn't you want Italy for yourself like every other country near him?" England cocked his eye brows. France veered his head towards the wall in front of him.

"Well he and Romano had a lot of things we wanted and… I suppose we did get a little jealous of them." The Frenchman tucked his blonde hair behind his ears and spun his head back at England. "Don't get me wrong, I never intended to hurt them. I just wanted a little bit of what they had. And now… why does Veneziano want to be with Germany anyway? All that German does is shout and tell him off for getting things wrong. If I were him, I would have said I had enough and left."

"And then what? You're no different associating yourself with Spain and Prussia. Italy probably knows he's so pathetic that he needs a big strong country like Germany to hide behind when he gets himself into trouble. That's why we form alliances; united we stand, divided we fall. How else do you think we made it this far?"

The last few statements stunned France. He knew England wasn't the counselling type like him. Whether it was his experience before waking up in the cell or even the occurrences in this room, he seemed to have gotten something out of it I order for him to say that. After all, France did wonder whether the British man felt isolated on the little island he lived on but he didn't seem fazed when he talked about working together. This raised a smile on France's lips and England didn't fail to spot it and flashed one back at him.

"It's funny," France spoke. "I'm genuinely smiling with the one person that I smile to the least. It's strange how I'm not feeling so lonely anymore with you."

"Well," The Briton chuckled, "No-one should be alone to be fair. That must be why there are so many people in the world; so everyone has a chance to find someone to be with."

"Oui that sounds about right," The Frenchman exhaled until his eyes caught England rubbing the lobe of his right ear. "You're tired?" The Briton snapped out of his dazed state and sharply pulled his arm down.

"Umm…"

"If it's alright with you, can we talk for a while longer?" France asked. "I don't think I'm ready to go back to bed yet." England sighed and nodded his head with approval.

Time flew by as their conversation meandered from topic one to another, leaping to different tangents. Some occasions made them laugh while others put them in a sombre mood. Tiredness couldn't even hinder them from their constant chatting as they rambled on and on.

"And then I just shouted 'MOVE' to the bloody kid on the bicycle," England described. "Honestly, he was cycling so slowly! He was on one of those bikes which only have one gear and that's-" He felt something hit his shoulder. The Briton glanced to find France had dozed off on his shoulder. "Bloody git," he groaned. "I can't believe he fell asleep on me!"

England thought about shaking France awake but for some reason he hesitated. The Briton found the Frenchman's sleeping demeanour somewhat endearing. Just gazing at his dozing expression warmed his heart as a smile slowly rose on the Englishman's face. Deciding he didn't want to disturb France's slumber, England shifted a little away from and delicately cradled the Frenchman's head with one hand while the other held his torso. He gently reclined France onto the bed laying his head onto the pillow. England waited to see if he would stir himself awake. Apart from taking a deep breath, France continued to snooze. Letting out a sigh of relief, the Briton carefully and slowly clambered over the sleeping Frenchman and made his way down the ladder, all without waking him up. He didn't think he would be using his skills in being so sneaky and quiet on France of all people since he took America into his care. Before settling into the bottom bunk, he took one last look at the sleeping Frenchman who claimed the top bunk. Another smile lit up on England's face as he checked the dampness of the bottom bunk bed covers. Satisfied they dried out; the Briton crawled onto the bed and pulled the blankets onto himself. His heavy eye lids immediately dropped from the moment his head hit the pillow.

!

**Bon soir (or good afternoon to you Americans)! I had to get this chapter up for many reasons but I don't know if I can list them all. All I can say is I really wanted to get this chapter down. Originally I did try to write some of France's dialogue in French but I messed up pretty badly so I'm not going to try that agin anytime soon but b****asically, France's dream involved the time when both Italy and Germany invaded France in 1942 and captured most of the French soldiers and citizens (That's what I believe happened anyway). It may not be historically accurate but it's for the purpose of this story.**

**In the meantime, I hope you enjoy reading it. Now it's time to do my coursework.**


	10. Awkward Moments Don't Make Sense

"_Well his fever seems to have gone down a bit," France stared at the thermometer which read thirty eight degrees. His sapphire eyes drifted to a feverish England tucked up in bed._

_France's original reason for visiting England's house was to show off the latest trend that was becoming popular in his country. But after he found out about England's illness from Canada, France couldn't turn down the opportunity to laugh at his misfortune. Whenever either one showed any form of weakness, the other would mercilessly mock them until they got bored or someone else would throw the pair out of wherever they happened to be, just for making everyone else feel uncomfortable. As much as he wanted to stay in case another fight broke out, Canada reluctantly asked France to check on England before setting off to grab some groceries and medicine. The Frenchman formulated what insults he would throw at England as he climbed the stairs and located his bedroom. Once he opened the door and revealed the Englishman lying in bed in his weakened state, France strode into the room with a look of glee on his face and cackled about how his actions have come back to haunt him. He waited for him to respond to his insults. All he got from the Briton was deep audible breathing. This worried the Frenchman as England would always have some kind of come back for him at least._

_France didn't know why but he spent the next few hours trying to cool down the Briton's fever with the cold, wet cloth and monitoring his temperature every so often. America dropped in at one point to boast about his new fighter plane but was instructed to leave by France after the American didn't help matters by placing a hamburger on England's head. After the ordeal with America, France watched the Briton drift in and out of consciousness for what seemed like a long time. He could have easily left England to fend for himself but there was a something about his fragile condition that made France stay by his side. The Briton's breathing was less erratic which in France's mind, was a good thing._

"_If only he was quiet like this all the time," France mused with a smile as he took the cloth from England's warm forehead and placed his hand on it instead. "He'd be really cute." The Frenchman stood up from the chair that he had sat on for hours, and took the damp cloth towards the bucket of cold water when he heard a whimper coming from the bed. _

"_Please… don't leave me…"_

_France glanced back at England's screwed up face. He rapidly wrung out the water and placed it back on the Briton's forehead._

"_Shh shh shh… it's alright. I'm not going to leave you," France consoled his patient in a tone more calming and quiet than he spoke to him in the past. He dabbed the wet cooling cloth on the Briton's face until he finally stopped whining. _

_As much as France didn't want to admit it; he secretly cared for his enemy. The Briton had been his underling at one point but since he managed to take the top half of the French territory after the hundred years war, France had ever since held that grudge against him. But he still found it endearing how England had tried to out do the Frenchman by copying his trends; he grew his hair long for a start, and he was half tempted to wear the tunic that was in fashion in the thirteenth possibly fourteenth century. France supposed imitation was the sincerest form of flattery, even if England called him 'frog' all the time._

_France gazed at the sleeping Briton; who was blissfully unaware that his long time enemy was sitting beside him. The longer the Frenchman stared at him, the more he agreed with his comment about England being cute if he learnt to be quiet. But thinking about it more, France found that he liked him when he got angry, annoyed and generally flustered, making it one of the many reasons to tease the Briton. He'd take comfort knowing that his rival still had this charm that France had liked so much since knowing him._

"_Attendre pour un moment," France stopped his rambling thoughts and pressed his right hand on his own chest. "Why do I feel that way about England of all people?" He gasped at the speed his heart was beating. It was practically pounding like a drum and he could feel it against his hand. His fingers grabbed some of the material of his white shirt as he took deep breaths. "Non! There's no way that I could like him that way! He's my rival and a life long enemy! I cannot possibly harbour such feelings for him!" Deny he tried but all of the evidence seemed to stack up against him; why did he bother to visit England out of everyone that he could have gone to? Why did he decide to care for him when could he could have refused? What made England's quiet state so appealing to the Frenchman? And why was he feeling all these fluttery emotions when he stared at England's angelic face?_

"_Because really I like him?" France growled as his hands covered his flushed face. The thought of him liking his enemy disgusted him and he was sure that if England knew what was going on, he'd be too. After a few minutes of whining his thoughts out loud, France threw is hands onto his thighs and composed himself. "There's only one way to prove whether or not I actually feel that way about him!" He said with determination, as he began to lean over the unconscious Briton. Inside, France was shaking in fear as he knew his dignity was at stake. His heart pounded louder than before and his lips trembled with nervousness. His face inched closer to his patient's as he tried to keep his deep breathing normal. England waking up that this point would be disastrous and then France would be in deep trouble. Both of their lips were only an inch apart. France could feel his insides knotting up with tension making him feel quite sick. But he couldn't back away now, not until he confirmed whether his feelings for England were true. Closing the gap between him and the Briton, the Frenchman's eye lids slowly closed. Their lips were only an eyelash width apart._

"_France?"_

!

France's eye lids flipped open and threw himself to sit upright, letting out a small gasp. It took him seconds to get used to his surroundings, and the first thing that occurred to him after scanning the cell was that he wasn't on the bottom bunk. He remembered England rescuing him from a nightmare by splashing water on his face, and inviting him to the top bunk while the bottom bunk was drying out. Then they talked for a long time before sleep managed to get the better of the Frenchman without him knowing. This lead to his next question; how on earth did England manage to tuck him to bed without disturbing him? Normally he was light sleeper and could easily be woken up with a gentle nudge but he decided not to pursue this line of inquiry as it made him feel like a child which felt embarrassing, especially when England was the only person who could have done it.

"Oh, you're finally awake," the British accent bought France back to reality. The Frenchman looked down to find England staring back at him and already dressed in a white shirt with his green sweater top over it, and a pair of brown trousers. Right now, France felt awkward staring at his fellow inmate after having what could have been an even more awkward dream. That feeling in itself was quite rare for him.

It was hours later after France had showered and dressed himself that England began to notice his discomforted behaviour. Based on what happened last night, he guessed that France's pride must have been wounded since he saw him in such a fragile state. Under normal circumstances both of them had always carried the rule of not showing any sign of weakness to each other. But England remembered that they were not in that sort of situation. They were in a situation that was involuntary forced upon them and they pretty much had to go along with it as much as they hated it. And at this moment in time, maybe they were at their breaking point; they have no idea how long they've been in the cell and they don't know when they'll be allowed out. England took another glance at France who looked like he was agonising over something while sitting on the bottom bunk. The cell seemed to be good for making them reflect and think about things in a different light. After all, that what they've been doing for however long they've spent in the cell. However strange he thought it was going to be, England felt the need to help France. So he decided to do the one thing which could either build his fellow inmate's confidence to what it was or make the situation worse. It could only go one of two ways.

"France, this is going sound odd coming from me but what do you do to charm a lady?" If there was one subject England was certain France would leap at the chance to boast about, it would be romantic endeavours.

The Frenchman looked up and frowned at the Briton. "Why are you asking something like that for?"

"I'm just curious," England leant against the bunk bed. "I mean everyone's got their own unique way of attracting women and I wondered how people from different countries go about it. But since you're the only other person that I can talk to in here, I may as well see where my curiosity leads." Silence hung for a moment before France removed his hands from his mouth and showed a sly grin.

"Well since you've asked I may as well humour you. In fact, let me reconstruct one of my attempts; I'm sure you don't mind playing the role of a pretty woman from Calais, non?" A 'what' staggered out of the Briton's mouth. "I know it's not easy for me to imagine you as one, what with your caterpillar eye brows but since we cannot acquire a woman from this cell, you'll have to do."

"My eye brows do not look like caterpillars!" England protested, ignoring the fact that he was being made to play someone who was a victim of France's flirting.

"Fermez la bouche and do as I say!" France snapped England shut. "Now, it was on a reasonably bright day on a promenade somewhere in Calais; I was minding my own business when I spotted a beautiful female gazing at the horizon of the grey ocean. Her soft brown hair flickered in the breeze and she wore the most flattering, pink, floral dress I have ever seen. I knew at that moment she was the one for me."

England already started regretting about agreeing to play the innocent female; who was soon to be terrorised by France and his flirtatious efforts. And he was right to be nervous as the Frenchman already stood at an uncomfortable distance from him.

"So I strode up to the young lady and said, 'Mademoiselle, can I just say that you are the most beautiful girl I have the fortune of laying my eyes upon'?"

"Can you please not stand so close to me?" England demanded, shimmying himself as far as he could but France closed the gap with every shuffle.

"Like you, she was playing hard to get but I wasn't going to let my effort be wasted as I tried flattering her with all kinds of romantic lines that my mind could conjure." The Frenchman explained. "Alas they were not working on her so I decided to use the art of serenade."

"Oh dear God, you didn't try singing to her did you?" The Briton felt an arm snake around his waist which meant escape was now impossible.

"I thought that charming her with my singing voice should do the trick," France pulled England dangerously close to his waist. "I sang her a song that I made up myself as I felt that she find my words to be more genuine than if I had just taken the lyrics off another song. I hope you do not mind if I sing in my language as I feel singing it in French will create that romantic ambience."

"Oh my heart be still," The Briton said sarcastically before France gently seized his hand and lifted it up to chin level, making him jolt a little. England shut his eyes tightly, bracing himself at the sort of cheesy song the Frenchman was going to wail.

France gazed into the Englishman's scowl and wasted no time on serenading him.

"_J'ai regarde dans les yeux et je compris que je veux vous soyez avec moi*._"

England's eyelids floated up to reveal his emerald eyes. France assumed that he was pleasantly surprised at how good his voice sounded.

"_Je ne sais pas pourquoi je me sens de cette façon, peut-être que c'est le destin**._"

France's confidence grew bit by bit as the Briton stared at the Frenchman who still held him tightly. He just didn't seem to realise he still had a firm grip on him as much.

"_Les étoiles qui brillent dans le ciel noir; ils scintillent comme les étincelles dans vos yeux***._"

England still stared at France with a dumbfounded face. France could only think that he was shocked to be handled by him of all people in a way which made him feel less than at ease. But he couldn't shake off the feeling that there was a hint of something else in England's surprised expression. He just couldn't tell what it was. But he had to solve that puzzle later on as he came up to the chorus.

"_Je voudrais être comme, fou comme on peut. Dire ce que je pensais être mon fantasme. Nous nous sommes recontrés pour la première fois et j'ai une chose à demander: Allons-nous recontrer à nouveau? Allons-nous recontrer à nouveau****?_"

England blinked and opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish, trying to form a sentence but nothing came out. France felt that he lost his ability to speak due to the awkward situation he allowed himself to get caught up in and his flushed red cheeks were proof of that. After all, he was the one that asked the question and France answered it in a way he knew how. Finally he could hear a croak escape the Briton's throat meaning that he didn't completely lose his voice.

"Um… so did you get the girl from Calais?" England finally mustered. At that point, France finally removed his hands from his waist and released the hand that he held captive.

"Non," He shook his head. "Her boyfriend arrived shortly after I sang to her and chased me down the promenade, threatening to kill me if I ever went near her again."

"Didn't you think she was playing hard to get because she didn't want to betray her boyfriend in the first place?" England rubbed his now liberated hand. "Did you even ask whether she was already taken?"

"I was so preoccupied with my feelings for the lovely lady that I forgot to ask," France shrugged his shoulders.

"Honestly France, that is the problem with you; you never show any form of restraint," England said.

"And I suppose you could do better?" France folded his arms defensively. "Why don't you show me how you would, how you say, pull the birds in? As far as I know, I've never seen you with a pretty young lady who was happy to be around you."

"Alright, since you insist," The Englishman flashed an annoyed look at France and sat him down by pushing on his shoulders. "You don't mind playing a woman do you?" Before France could protest, England walked towards the window. "Now there are various ways that one could meet someone else for companionship but let's set the scene in a pub for argument's sake. I watch you, the young lady, from across the other side of the bar, gazing into space. After you finish your drink, I decide that maybe I should try my luck and move closer to you."

"You sound like you're plotting to kidnap me and throwing my corpse in some form of ditch." France smirked.

"Oh belt up and play your part properly!" England barked before clearing his throat. "For me, the key to a successful start to a relationship is gaining one's trust. So I sit myself nearer to you and I get your attention by saying a simple hello and offer to buy you a drink. It doesn't matter whether you say yes or no; I don't force you because that would only drive you away. So, would you like me to buy you a drink?"

"Are you sure you don't drug the drink so you can take them home for yourself?" France cocked an eye brow.

"I think I can manage to get a girl without the use of drugs," England tried to supress the agitation in his voice. "So do you want one?"

"Well since you're offering," France leant back a little bit with another smirk. "I'll have a glass of red wine, s'il vous plait."

"As you wish," The Briton raised a gentle smile and pretended to order the drinks from the invisible bar. France rolled his eyes at how seriously he was roleplaying as he was handed a non-existent wine glass from England. "So do you come here often?" The Briton asked. France decided to play along just to humour him.

"Not really. Where I come from, there are more cafes than there are pubs."

"And where would that be?" England looked relaxed yet interested in the discussion.

"I live in Paris but I came over to your country for a holiday," France answered. "I must say I'm impressed with the beauty your architecture. It really is divine."

"You do? It's nice of you to say such a thing," England chuckled. "I could say the same thing about your monuments in your country too. The Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Troimphe are very impressive if you ask me."

France didn't realise that he slowly grew to trust him as the Briton said he aimed to do and even if he did, he didn't mind. The conversation meandered from subject to subject until they both decided to leave the imaginary pub so England could take France back to where he was apparently staying. They still kept talking until France pointed to a space in the cell where his pretend hotel stood.

"I've had a great night and thank you for walking me back to my hotel," The Frenchman said.

"The pleasure was all mine," England admitted. "I've had a good time too. Perhaps we should keep in contact with each other next time we want to meet. Which reminds me, I forgot to introduce myself; my name is Arthur Kirkland. I'm sorry to have been rude as to forget something that basic."

"Non, it is fine. I'm just as bad as I didn't mention my name either." France placed his hand on his chest. "My name is Francis Bonnefoy but you can call me Francis."

"Francis Bonnefoy…" England uttered before flashing a charismatic grin. "What a lovely name. I'll give you my contact number so if you want to speak to me you can- mmph!"

The cause of England's abrupt end to his sentence was his mouth being gagged by France's lips. The Briton's eyes widened with horror as he pushed the Frenchman away and broke the contact between both lips. France stumbled a few steps backwards but managed to keep his balance as he panted. England wiped his own lips with the cuff of his shirt in a disgusted manner.

"What the bloody hell are you playing at!" The Briton yelled. "I know we were getting into our little role-play and all but that doesn't give you permission to kiss me!"

France hesitated to respond as he stood there a little shaken from the actions he just executed. "Je suis trés desolé. I must have been caught up in the moment and..."

"That still doesn't give you the right to do what you did!" England interjected as he ruffled his straw like hair. "I mean, bloody hell France! We were just play acting and you had to go and snog my face off! You were lucky no-one else barged in to see that or they would have gone and told the others! And then we'd have to explain how you were just caught up in the moment and no doubt they wouldn't listen because they'd just assume we both instigated it!"

"I don't know how it happened!" France's hands covered his blushed red cheeks as he stammered. "It happened at a spur of the moment and I couldn't control myself!"

"I was right to say you could never show any restraint!" England continued ranting. "I managed to keep my hands and lips to myself even though I found myself drowning in your sapphire blue eyes while being charmed by your mesmerising voice!"

At that second, the British man clamped his hand over his mouth, leaving his widened eyes to express the horror of what he had just revealed. France stared at the other inmate with a dumbfounded expression.

"Did you just say you were drowning in my eyes and were charmed by my voice?" He stuttered.

"… I wasn't supposed to say that out loud," England's voice was muffled due to his mouth being blocked off by his hands.

"There's something going on in this cell," France paused. "Non, we are no longer standing in a cell. Not anymore." The Frenchman tried approach England only for the Briton to take a defensive stance.

"Don't you dare touch me frog!" He snapped. "And what do you mean by, 'no longer standing in a cell'?"

"Listen Britain, you're going to call me mad when I say this but things have started to change ever since we spent time with each other," France started. "First we started to talk like civilised men, we try to outsmart the others outside, we laughed and cried together and now this happens. These are things that we never did before coming here!"

"And with good reason!" England added. "We have been sworn enemies longer than we have been friends!"

"Don't you understand?" France grabbed onto the front of the Briton's shirt before he could be thrown away again. "This place is becoming something more than a simple cell; it's becoming a world that we seem to have stumbled upon and it is changing the way we think about everything and each other!"

"Now you're just spouting nonsense!" England glared daggers at the Frenchman. "You're not making any sense! I'd say this cell has given you cabin fever!"

"Don't you start with that because you can't deny that this place has affected you too!" France's knuckles started to turn white from clutching his shirt so tightly. "I don't know when and I don't know how but I know one thing for sure; I have fallen in love with you Britain and I'm sure the same thing has happened to you whether you like it or not!"

"That's enough!" England barked, shoving France away once more. "There was no world to begin with when we woke up in this cell! Sure we started to get along better but that doesn't justify falling in love with the only other person in the cell with you like in all those rubbish American romance films! You just can't seem to keep your hands to yourself and you've violated me France! You invaded my personal space and the worst part is, I don't know how much longer we have in this cell!

"It could be another week or so and frankly I'm not sure whether my sanity will abandon me before then! Yours certainly left you but as long as I know that I am inside a prison cell with my biggest foe then I will have no reason to lose my mind until we'll be released!"

France took a step back and gave a sad expression to the floor, his blonde hair trailed to cover most of it up. "Maybe you're right about me being mad," he started, "but that doesn't change the way I feel about you or this place. This place has become as big as any other country and you and I have guided each other through it. We practically helped each other create this place with our own imaginations."

England let out a sigh of pity and placed each hand on France's shoulders. "Look at me," he spoke in a voice that almost sounded like a whisper but France didn't respond, "I said look at me." The Frenchman slowly lifted his head up to see the sincere green eyes gazing back at him. "When one of the others comes here, I'll ask if they can check you over to see whether you have the mental well-being to endure this any longer. If you're lucky, they'll let you go early and you can be free. I still have my fairy friends to talk to so you don't have to worry about me being here alone."

To England's shock, France pulled away leaving the Briton's arms suspended in the air for a moment. The Frenchman stared at him with dull eyes and not the bright blue ones he always had.

"We woke up in this cell together so we'll both get out the same way, even if we do lose our minds," France said in a dark tone as he turned his back to England. "And just so you know, I don't regret that kiss I gave you and I'll never regret it if I ever kissed you again."

England was about to respond to the comment but the Frenchman sauntered around the corner and hid himself around the gap between the wall and the bunk bed. Deciding to give France some thinking time was the best course of action in England's opinion, so he shuffled his feet to the other end of the bunk bed and leant against it.

Whenever England saw France get rejected by any woman, he'd recover very quickly as though he thought she wasn't the one anyway. But how was he supposed to know that he was going to take rejection that badly when it came to England of all people? The Briton couldn't understand how someone who hated him for so long could suddenly fall for him with a drop of a hat or in this case, being locked up in a cell for three weeks.

"_And to think you were seduced by France's enticing voice and hypnotic blue eyes._"

France of all people knew how England felt whenever anyone including him tried to flirt with him. The Briton wouldn't have it and he would try to get away from the situation as fast as he could. He just didn't want that form of attention, at least from someone he didn't like.

"_But you were falling for his magnetic gaze and enthralling singing._"

In a way, England did admit to himself that if he hadn't have come up with the subject to liven France's spirits, this sort of thing would never have transpired. He did feel some guilt about starting the subject and well… the forbidden kiss happened. Of course he could never tell the others what happened or both their prides would be put into question.

"_Like you said, you were drowning in his mesmerising blue eyes while charmed by his captivating voice._"

"Shut up!" England screamed in his mind, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes to block out the thoughts of his earlier outburst. "He's French so naturally he could potentially have the power to seduce men and women! He'd be a dangerous foe if he used that strategy on anyone! He just doesn't choose to!"

"_And he was a great kisser._"

England clutched his hair to distract those thoughts with pain. "Why did I have to go and say an idiotic thing like that out loud? I may ramble a lot when I rant but I would never have let something as stupid as that slip out of my mouth! It just doesn't make any sense!"

The last sentence created a pang in his head. England loosened his grip on his hair and let his finger tips feel his burning face. He took a quick glance at the mirror and saw just how red it has become. And he didn't know why but his left hand slid down towards the left side of his chest and stopped where he guessed his heart was situated. He could feel it hammering so fast even through his sweater. This in turn made him breathe a little deeper than normal. The Briton panicked inside his mind.

"What's going on?" His eyes widened into anxiety. None of this made any sense.

!

**Hey guys! I'm taking a break from college work to put this up. I really do apologise for taking so long on writing this chapter. I have been incredibly busy with a lot of things but I felt this was too good to put down.**

**So yeah, something is blooming in this chapter and no doubt things are going to get interesting between France and England. To be honest, I think some of the things in here don't make a lot of sense but when you've been in a cell for three weeks with your worst enemy, anything goes (including logic fleeing out of the window *laughs*). I've watched episodes 5 and 6 of 'Hetalia: World Series' where England catches a cold and it has helped me greatly when setting the scene for what happens next in this chapter. I'm afraid I may have made France a little OOC, I don't know.**

**And I nearly forgot to translate the lyrics for you guys, which by the way have been written by me. These lyrics were written when I was 11/12 years old so they'd probably sound cheesy now. I also changed some of them to suit this story but it's still relatively how I had it all those years ago. Man I feel old.**

*** = I looked in your eyes and I realised that I want you to be with me.**

**** = I don't why I'm feeling this way, maybe it is fate.**

***** = The stars that shine brightly in the black sky; they twinkle like the sparkles in your eyes.**

****** = I wish I was like you, crazy as can be. Saying what I thought was my fantasy. This meeting's our first time and I've got one thing to ask: Will we meet again? Will we meet again? **

**Let me know what you guys think or if you're enjoying the story, through the reviews. I'd love to hear from you guys as they give me so much encouragement to follow through 'til the end. **


	11. An Act of Craziness

Neither country said a word to each other just hours after the incident with the illicit kiss. Even after Italy and Japan delivered dinner, there was only small talk between them all and the prisoners insisted nothing happened when Japan sensed some tension and interrogated them. No conversation took place after Italy and Japan left which left both inmates standing at different ends of the bunk beds. England glowered at the night sky through the window in a dazed state with his arms folded. He gave a quick glance at a gap of the bunk bed and could still see France slouching against it in a similar fashion. England took a deep breath and turned his head forward to look at the black void with only a dim ray of moonlight penetrating the darkness. He sighed once more before pushing himself off the bunk bed and took a few steps around it to stop halfway.

"France, I know you probably don't want to speak to me but at least listen to what I've got to say," England started calmly hoping he could sense some movement from the other side of the bed. No sound was made in response to him speaking but he decided to continue anyway. "I've been thinking about what you've said about this cell becoming a different world, and how things have started to change since we've been in here. I've thought long and hard about it and I believe that you have a point; I mean, it's like us countries having our own customs and cultural differences of what's considered normal. I think that snails are garden pests while you believe they also belong on a dinner plate, Russia prefers drinking vodka while Germany would rather down a keg of beer, and Italy has no shame in sleeping outside his front lawn on a hot summer's day half naked, while Japan would cringe at the thought."

"It's the same here; up until now we have been getting along pretty well, while everyone else is waiting for us to maul each other to death. If everyone heard half of the conversations we've had they'd think we'd have gone insane. As for my reaction yesterday…" England scratched his head with one hand and exhaled. "I was startled when you… um… I really didn't expect you to do what you did and I guess I was so shocked that my mind just went into overdrive and I just lost it. You and I know that we used to try and avoid each other at all costs but now…" The Briton's eyes drifted onto the floor while constructing the rest of his sentence. He took a deep breath to compose himself. "Now… we're in an environment where we can't escape from each other, and we've been forced to do things that we thought we would never do together. It's an odd situation we've been thrown into and frankly… um…"

While England tried to finish his sentence, he didn't stir at the small movement of France peering around the bed.

"You don't know what you're talking about, don't you?" He finally said making England pick his head up to see the Frenchman's confused frown. The Briton's lips curled into a wry smile as he chuckled lightly.

"Not at all," He shook his head. "But there is one thing I am certain of," England turned to face the window. "From the moment we woke up in this place, nothing has made any sense. Logic along with reason fled out of that window and it's likely that they won't be returning. Everything we have said, done, laughed and cried has been one surreal voyage that we have unknowingly undergone. In the process, we stumbled upon this world, as you've said, and we saw quite a few things that many will not get the opportunity to see."

France wasn't sure whether to worry about the Briton or feel comforted that he sort of got what he was trying to say earlier. As he thought this, England spun around to face the Frenchman with a sincere look on his face.

"Since we're still exploring this world, I'd like to propose an idea and I want to make sure it's alright with you," He continued.

"The strange Englishman proposes an idea," France uttered, "It can't end well but proceed."

England huffed in annoyance but he didn't let the signs of agitation escape from his expression. "Let's do something crazy!" France cocked an eyebrow knowing that this wasn't Britain behaving normally. But he could see England was excited as his clenched fists rose up to his chest. "Let's do something insane, something that normally we wouldn't be allowed to do, that we can do right here right now!"

France let out a sigh and folded his arms. "It's a nice thought but there's hardly enough room to swing a cat and there are limits to the amount of objects in 'I spy' and pillow fights." England placed his finger under his chin for a brief moment before lowering his arm again.

"I never got to finish explaining how I would attract a woman," He said.

"You mean you weren't done?" France raised his eyebrows but let out a sigh in defeat after considering the alternative route. "D'accord, go ahead. Enchant me," He said with a less than enthusiastic tone.

Not put off by the Frenchman's sudden change towards being seduced, England cleared his throat and sat down on the bottom bunk of the bed. "After seeing each other for sometime, my feelings for the lady develops into more than just wanting to be friends and the classic situation of whether she feels the same way arises, planting seeds of doubt in my mind but I'm willing to confess my true feelings either way. I decide to reveal them on a hill overlooking a golden beach at the orange sunset with her sitting by my side." England signalled France (who was still standing) to sit beside him on the bed. The Frenchman slowly lowered himself despite being unsure where this gesture was going to lead. Once he sat down, England gazed wistfully at the wall in front of them.

"This sunset is lovely isn't it?" He locked his emerald eyes on a bemused France.

The Frenchman was unsure about the whole thing but he humoured him and pensively stared at the wall. "Oui. C'est magnificent." He glanced at the Briton and the first thing he noticed was that he was fidgeting with his fingers. "Are you alright? You're fidgeting."

Immediately realising what he was doing, England nervously chuckled. "I… I have something that I want to confess." He began tangling his fingers up once more. "We've been going out with each other for sometime now and I don't know about you but I've really enjoyed having you as company."

"His voice is shaking," France thought. "Is this how British men confess to someone they love? Because right now, I'm feeling nervous for him."

England's palms began to sweat so he interlocked his fingers to reduce the amount twiddling. "While we got to know each other, I've started to realise that I liked you more and more everyday and meeting with you has become my main highlight." His voice wavered making him pause again. His breathing became deeper and more audible and his hands started to tremble. "What I'm t-trying to say is that I-I really… really… l-like you."

France became concerned about whether he was just acting or something else completely, so he leant towards England and expressed concern on his face. "Are you sure you're alright? We're just role-playing but you seem to be taking this seriously." Suddenly the Briton's mouth met his. He really made the effort of passionately kissing him; however, France made it last a brief moment when he separated both lips by pushing him back by his shoulders.

"Wait! I thought you didn't want to be affectionate!" France reminded the now baffled Briton.

England panted, "What I meant to say… was that I love you."

"But how do I know you're not just saying it?" The Frenchman frowned. "How do I know you're not going crazy like you thought I was?"

The Englishman hesitated and hung his head low. "Do you want proof of how genuine I am about my confession, Francis?"

France let out a quiet gasp when he mentioned his human name. Of course the other countries knew it too but England hadn't said that name in his presence for a long time. He stared dumbfounded that England of all people, said his name out of affection. By the time France rationalised his thoughts, he noticed the sweater vest was missing from the Briton's attire and saw him unbuttoning his white shirt. Normally it would have been the other way around but it was like England said, nothing made sense anymore since waking up in the cell.

"What are you doing?" France's voice wavered.

"I want you to listen to my heartbeat Francis," The Briton answered as he unbuttoned the last button and proceeded to take it off. "That's the only way I can show you how serious I am about my feelings for you." Finally, he let the shirt fall onto the floor, only to reveal his bare chest. All France could do was stare in awe of how completely out of character England was acting. "Please, only you can confirm whether I'm serious or not."

At first, France didn't move but he eventually his head drifted closer to England's torso. It was then that he realised he felt nervous from the second kiss that the British man instigated. He asked himself why he felt that way but the questions stopped circling his head when his ear finally made contact on the left part of his torso. Only seconds after his ear touched down that he could hear and feel a heartbeat pulsing rapidly. He pulled his head away slightly to tuck his hair behind his ears before he bowed his head back onto England's rib cage. The heart kept beating at a very quick rate. France closed his eyes slightly.

"You heart is beating so fast," He uttered before pulling away.

"So… how serious do you think I am?" England inquired in a serious tone. But instead of answering the question straight away, France started to unbutton his shirt.

"I don't want us to rush into anything without knowing we both agree to do it," The Frenchman beckoned the Briton towards his chest after he let his shirt slide off his shoulders. England nodded head and slowly bent down to press his ear onto France's well toned body. One hand curved around the Frenchman's side so he could support his head against his torso. Once England found his heart beat, he expressed astonishment. The Frenchman's heart beat pounded so hard and so loudly that he felt he could hear nothing else.

"My God, your heart's practically racing." England whispered, as he suddenly felt France's finger hook underneath his chin and effortlessly lifted it. The British green eyes made contact with the French's blue once their faces met.

"So how serious are we about exploring this world, Arthur?" France anticipated the Briton's answer. England responded by gazing into his eyes lovingly.

"Very," was his response.

Their faces drew closer to as though a magnetic force pulled them together. Both of them could feel each other's fingers grazing over their skin; Arthur's hands slowly crept up the Frenchman's arms towards his shoulders as Francis' finger that held the Briton's chin traced his jaw line and buried his hand into his choppy, blonde hair. Arthur could feel Francis' hand press against his back meaning he wanted to bring him closer quickly, so he assisted this movement by cradling the Frenchman's head. Their eyes slowly closed as their efforts were rewarded with their lips embracing each other into a kiss. Three was definitely a charm and they both knew it because this kiss was based on a mutual agreement. Their tongues danced inside their mouths exploring and massaging every crevice they found. The hands did similar things with Arthur's fingers combing through the Frenchman's blonde locks and Francis caressing the Briton's waist. Passion burned inside their bodies and if it weren't for the fact that they needed air then they wouldn't have stopped their kiss.

Their lips and hands pulled away and gasped for air while staring at each other. In their heads they asked whether their stares were of shock of their actions, or a sense of realisation of the truth that they've discovered together. Neither could tell until Francis turned to the bunk bed and threw the pillows and the blankets off his bunk. Arthur looked confused as the Frenchman started to yank the mattress off the bed.

"Get your mattress off and put it next to mine on the floor," Francis pointed to the floor. "We cannot do anything crazy if we don't have enough room, non?"

Arthur let out an excited laugh before immediately tossing everything off his bed and dragging the mattress off the top bunk and letting it drop onto the floor. Once both mattresses were pushed together and covered them with the bed sheets, both countries looked down on their make shift bed as though they created a masterpiece before gazing at each other once more. Their eyes seemed to hold a conversation as though they both said, 'shall we go for it?', only for another loving embrace to confirm their answer. This time, their tongues fought for dominance as their hands busily began to undo each other's buckles on their trousers. Francis being French and the country of love pulled down the Briton's trousers and underwear first. Once they fell around his ankles, Arthur kicked them off to one side and did the same to the Frenchman. After all their clothes had been removed, their naked bodies embraced each other and the burning passion swelled again and their tongues furiously lashed inside their mouths. Arthur's hands slid down the Frenchman's waist until they groped his buttocks. Francis let out a moan from the back of his throat and lost his footing in that moment of surprise. Fortunately he was going to fall onto the mattresses below but he knew he wouldn't be tumbling alone since he had his grip on Arthur. The Briton widened his eyes realising he was being pulled down by Francis but that was a temporary fear since their lips were still locked by the time they landed onto the make shift bed.

It was fortunate that the mattresses were soft enough to break their fall so they could continue to survey each other's hot, damp skin. They knew what each other were thinking, this was wrong. Two life long enemies have somehow converted to being a pair of lovers. If everyone else knew about this passionate affair, there would be inquiries as to how this managed to happen and their reputation and pride would be questioned over and over again behind their backs. So why haven't they decided to stop when these questions invaded their thoughts? As far as they were concerned, the sexual pleasure overrode these feelings of doubts making them nothing but niggling little things that were not allowed in their new world of happiness; a world which only Francis and Arthur were feeling at the moment.

In an instant their lips parted again but when Francis opened his eyes, he saw the Briton straddling over his bare figure with a confident smile across his face.

"Well, well, looks like I'm on top." Arthur panted heavily as his right hand floated down to Francis' member and gently stroked his shaft. This action provoked a tingling sensation in the Frenchman's Eiffel Tower. His eyes closed and the effect of the increasing euphoric sensation was almost immediate. His respired deeply as the Briton continued to glide up and down his growing erection. The Frenchman groaned which led Arthur to believe he was ready for a rise in intensity. He rubbed Francis' shaft with an upsurge in movement.

"Mon dieu!" Francis yelped in response, his back craned slightly. Even with the Frenchman's cry, Arthur knew that both of them were enjoying this strange pleasure and he also knew Francis could take whatever could throw at him when it came to having sex because after all, the French had a reputation with romance. "I-I I think I'm going to-ah!" He heard Francis screech. In that instant, Arthur could feel a warm liquid splatter a bit on his hand but he didn't get the full assault. His hand stopped playing with Francis' prostate as he leant his head closer to the Frenchman's neck. Francis' hands caressed the Briton and moaned when he felt a bite on the sensitive part of his neck. Arthur quietly chuckled as he licked behind his ear until he heard a mumble from Francis, "You've let your guard down." The Briton lifted his head up with his nose just millimetres from Francis'.

"What do you mean by that?" Arthur slurred with a grin. Suddenly, the world around the Englishman swirled like the sensation of dizziness from a fair-ground ride. He could feel himself being forcibly moved and by the time everything stopped spinning, he found himself lying on his stomach. "What the bloody hell just happened?" He felt slightly confused as to how this managed to happen and so quickly at that when he felt Francis' warm breath near his ear.

"Didn't you know judo is a popular sport in France?" He whispered. "It becomes very useful in situations like this." Arthur, still in a startled state, stared at him as much as his neck allowed him to twist his head until a manly hand hovered beside his face. He looked up to the Frenchman who gave him a seductive look. "Suck on these." He urged the Briton with his fingers. Without hesitation Arthur hand took Francis' fingers and tasted them. This act in itself was already turning the Briton on as his tongue slithered across each knuckle and nail in saliva. This ensued until Arthur gave them permission to slide out when Francis felt they were wet enough. He heard the Frenchman positioning himself behind him as he waited with an excited anticipation on his hands and knees.

"This will hurt for all but a moment," Francis started. "But once the pain subsides, you better remember my name because you'll be screaming it."

"Just get on with it," Arthur braced himself, not daring himself to look back to spoil the surprise. The seconds of waiting seemed unbearable for him until he let out a yelp in pain. His backside felt like it was opened with a scissor like motion. His fingers curled around the mattress just to block out little of the massive pain he felt. But that pain disappeared in an instant which bought relief to the Briton.

"Shall we start of slow or do you want to go fast straight away?" Francis asked from behind.

"Just fuck me, Francis!" Arthur groaned without looking back.

"As you wish," murmured the Frenchman as he grabbed onto the Briton's waist and started pushing and pulling his own hips at a medium pace. Judging from Arthur's response, he had already warmed up by sucking his fingers and his moans were proof of that. Never had either of them thought they would be performing any sexual act during their stay in the cell. At day one, it was unimaginable because they were too much of enemies to even conceive such a thought. But here they were at who knows what day, consumed in a lustful desire of sexual pleasure with Francis pumping himself into Arthur at a faster pace.

"Fuck me! Fuck me Francis!" Arthur screamed craning his head back. Francis thrust his waist harder and harder which lead to louder begging from the Briton. Francis would have loved to have seen Arthur crawling on his hands and knees, begging for mercy when things didn't go his way. But that thought was forgotten within seconds because he knew they were no longer enemies. Both of them no longer saw each other as just countries but human beings as well since they haven't said their country names since listening to each other's beating hearts. They were enveloped in adoration for each other and hatred didn't dare show itself between the two. Arthur's screams began diminishing in volume which told Francis he was running out of stamina. The Frenchman slowed himself down letting Arthur catch his breath. Francis smoothly detached himself from the Briton once he found the right timing and panted for air himself. When Arthur slowly collapsed onto his side, Francis used this as a cue to crawl and situate himself beside the Briton. The Frenchman thought that Arthur may have passed out after what he did to him but when Francis faced him; he met the loving gaze of the pair emerald eyes and a gentle smile. "He is Britain," Francis thought. "Of course he wouldn't pass out from something like that. He is strong like that."

Both pairs of arms unknowingly snaked around their waists and bought them into close contact, tangling their legs in the process. Their lips converged into a tender caress to the point where they had enough energy to nibble the edges of their mouths. Their lips grazed into a gentle separation as they rested their fore heads against each other. Their breathing became warm and calm but they still made eye contact with their peaceful eyes. Arthur's left hand rose and stroked stray curls of Francis' blonde hair behind his ear.

"Je t'aime Francis," He whispered. "Is that how the French say it?"

The Frenchman slightly nodded his head. "Oui mon cher," He murmured as he pecked the British lips. "It's also one way of saying 'I love you' in this world we have created." Needless to say, Arthur also agreed.


	12. One Day Left

The rest of the night became a blur of desire between Arthur and Francis, from passionate kisses and hands caressing their wet skin to tangling themselves in experimental positions. When one challenged for sexual supremacy, the other would always pick up the gauntlet to match their stamina. Fervent breaths panted between these random acts and kisses. That night, in their minds, they made up for the years of hatred they shared for so long. In their minds, the concrete walls crumbled that the now disintegrated roof held together.

_!_

_The man with eyes of green _

_and the man with eyes of blue_

_laid on the lush, viridian grass _

_with eyes fixated at the sky._

_Shaping the cotton clouds floating_

_in the pastel heavens of blue,_

_a light breeze whistled_

_between both of their blonde locks._

"_What do you think we could do for fun?"_

_Sat up the man with eyes of green._

"_My friend," began the blue eyed man,_

"_We shall go for a run and see where this world will take us."_

_Both men sprung to their feet and ran,_

_their arms and legs pumped for speed._

_They occasionally glance and encourage_

_each other with laughs of excitement._

_They passed the Angel of the North sculptures_

_overlooking the iron Eiffel Tower horses_

_that galloped alongside the two men_

_on the emerald fields of jade._

_Adrenalin drove the men towards a cliff edge_

_but they were unafraid. They laughed._

_The men launched themselves off the edge_

_as they embraced the gusty wind._

_The men grabbed onto a passing _

_Big Ben clock tower rocket._

_Tightly they clung to the sides_

_as they soared up to the atmosphere._

_The men felt a rumbling on the rocket._

_Before they knew it, it exploded_

_into thousands upon thousands_

_of rainbow coloured bubbles._

_They slowly drifted down amongst_

_the coloured effervesces_

_until their falling increased in speed._

_That's when they pulled out their London Eye parachutes._

_They glided downwards giggling in excitement._

_The Angel of the North sculptures_

_and the Eiffel Tower horses_

_looked so small from where they were._

_A double-decker bus rollercoaster carriage of red_

_appeared below the men on the Madame of Pompidou track._

_As soon as they landed in the carriage,_

_The parachutes disappeared into rainbow confetti._

_Up the carriage climbed, the men waited_

_With anticipation and bated breaths._

_They reached the top. They leant forward,_

_And the carriage zoomed down the slope._

_The men screamed with joy, whizzing through_

_The Arc de Triomphe and under Tower Bridge._

_Buckingham Palace and the Palace of Versailles_

_Were more of the many attractions their eyes caught._

_The track begins to run out_

_The carriage flung off the edge,_

_The men flew with incredible velocity_

_On the wings of this world._

_Will the men remember the moment their eyes closed to sleep, I wonder?_

!

Francis screwed his face at a beam of light that seeped through the window. Then his eyes flipped open and blinked a few times. He definitely didn't remember going to sleep last night. Did Arthur go to sleep at some point too? Francis turned his head to find the Briton's face nuzzled into his chest with his hands curled underneath his own chin. Arthur's chest bobbed up and down, puffing gentle breaths on the French skin. Francis deliberated on whether to watch him sleep (which he found quite appealing) or waking him up so he can stare into the viridian eyes that he had come to love so much. Fortunately, Arthur stirred in his sleep stopping him from making that decision. His hands aimlessly stroked the Frenchman's torso as his eye lids flickered open. Francis' lips pulled into a placid smile as he pulled the Briton towards him.

"Bon matin Sleeping Beauty," He murmured. "I trust you had sweet dreams, oui?"

Arthur nodded slightly and cuddled up to Francis. "Last night, we must have done the craziest thing without the aid of alcohol."

"You asked that we do something crazy and so we did," Francis chuckled lightly.

"Hmm," The Briton nodded his head again. "Who knew there was more than one way to bend a leg when making love?"

"Non mon cher," The Frenchman said, fondling with Arthur's short, blonde hair. "The crazy activity I speak of is us falling in love with each other."

There was a slight pause with Arthur's response before he agreed for the third time. "That too I suppose. But you know what?" He spoke; his lips aligned with Francis' face and gave him a tender kiss. "I'm glad we fell in love."

The Frenchman felt his new found lover's arms snake around his waist, so he returned the favour by wrapping his arms around the Briton's shoulders and cradled him. That's when he noticed that the lower half of their bodies had been covered with their blankets when they woke up. He was certain the blankets didn't cover them before. The Frenchman assumed it must have been Arthur's doing as he couldn't recall wanting to cover himself up at least. But that wasn't too much of a concern because they were lying naked in a make shift bed after all and they could feel each other's warmth. Arthur bought his left arm to the front and softy pressed it against the French chest.

"Francis," He began to aimlessly tracing random shapes with his index finger. Whether he realised what he was doing both men were unsure. "When we get out of here, will you still love me as much as you do now?"

Francis gazed at the Briton's subdued expression. "Will you still love me like you're doing now when we're finally released?" He asked.

Arthur let out a giggle. "You git, of course I would!"

"There we go," Francis smiled with relief and pecked him on the cheek. "That is my answer." Reading each other's minds, they leant in for another short but sweet kiss. Their lips grazed against each other until they broke away for air.

"If the others saw what this place has done to us," Arthur started, "they'd be shocked."

"And horrified," Francis added. "They wouldn't know what to think let alone think about how to react."

Arthur sighed, "I want to stay with you and love you but if any of the others found out about us, who knows what sort of things could happen. I just don't want us to suffer just because we're life long enemies that have transformed into lovers."

"In other words, you're afraid that the wonderful relationship we've begun would crumble before taking off if the others knew?" Francis enquired. Arthur found it scary how he was able to read his mind as a lover rather than an enemy plotting against him. Maybe he held the same fear but nothing on his face gave it away. The Briton gave a nod in confirmation.

"If we still want to meet with each other, we'd have to do it in a way where no-one else would know about our 'rendezvous' as you French say it."

Francis rolled onto his back and gazed at the ceiling. He could still feel Arthur clinging onto him so he hugged the Briton's shoulder with his left arm as a sign of reassurance. He also knew that when Arthur was worried, he was worried. He'd try and convince the others that there was nothing wrong with him but his body language would state otherwise. It was a trait a few of the other countries and Francis especially were used to. Suddenly the French eyes lit up with inspiration as two words escaped his mouth.

"Purple watches."

"Purple watches?" Arthur gazed at the Frenchman confused.

"Oui. We each purchase a watch and use it to adjust the hands to the time we want to meet." Francis rolled on his side to face the Briton. "Of course we have to have a signal for, par exemple, if both of us are available and a way for us to establish when and where we want to meet."

"We can always ask each other for the time," Arthur suggested. "If we're both available, we show the time on the watches. Otherwise, we just say the real time. Either way, anyone would find it hard to be suspicious if we simply asked for it."

"C'est un bon idée! For the place, we should just text each other. It would be easier to establish and if anyone happened to look over our shoulder and read it, they only have one piece of information. And if they do follow either of us, we could just send them on a wild goose chase until they get bored. But the point is that no-one but us would know both the time and location for when we want to meet." Arthur beamed a warm smile at Francis as their fingers intertwined in their hands.

"I like that. It's risky but it'll be worth it in the end." Their lips drew closer once more until-

"Hey! You guys alive in there! You got a breakfast delivery!" An obnoxious American accent grated their ears, making both inmates throw themselves upright in panic.

"Don't open the hatch! Don't open the hatch!" They shouted in an almost perfect synchronisation.

"Why? Is there something wrong?" A softer voice inquired.

In contrast to the gentler tone of the last sentence, a laugh similar to Francis' chortle, bellowed from the other side of the door. "Hoh hoh hoh! Are you guys indecent or something?"

Francis and Arthur glowered at each other with sheer desperation on their faces to give them a good reason why the two figures outside should not reveal the secret of the activities last night. "I've just gotten out of the shower and I'm literally wrapping a towel around myself!" The Briton finally gushed. Both prisoners didn't want to produce too much sound of movement in case they gave ammunition for more questions to the people outside, so they stayed in their make-shift bed. Arthur then snapped his head towards Francis. "France! Don't you dare look at me while I'm getting dressed!"

The Frenchman's expression changed dramatically into a smirk and winked at the Briton. "I'm not looking," He said in a sing song voice, clearly eyeing up Arthur's entire being.

"Well, I suppose if that's the case," the softer voice spoke, "I think we'll let you keep your dignity after what you guys have been through."

"Aaw Canadia! You're no fun! I thought since France raised you, you'd love to see Britain butt naked!"

"I'm not a pervert America. Besides, it sounds more like you wanted to see England bare."

Arthur felt it was a good time to move away from the awkward subject of his (and Francis') current situation. "So you fellows bought breakfast for us?" Arthur asked.

"That and we've got some news for you about tomorrow," Canada stated as both inmates stared at the door in bemusement.

"What's happening tomorrow?" Francis enquired. "There isn't another task is there?"

"No," The Canadian responded. "Actually, today's your last day in this cell."

"What?" Francis and Arthur blinked in astonishment.

"It's just as Canada says!" America yelled in excitement. "Tomorrow, you guys are finally gonna be released!"

"Wait! How long have we been in here? The Briton demanded.

"It's been exactly twenty-one days, three weeks," Canada informed them.

"It doesn't feel like we've been in here for that long," Francis commented.

"Dude! How can you guys not know?" The American exclaimed in an irritatingly high pitched voice. "I thought you'd be counting down the days like kids waiting for Christmas!"

"We would have if we had been provided with a clock, a calendar or some other time keeping device!" Arthur scowled at the door.

"Ah well, the point being is that you guys are getting out of there tomorrow," America chimed.

"That reminds me," Canada continued. "Germany wanted us to tell you to spend today tidying up the cell and putting everything back the way you found it."

"Yeah, you know how Germany is with his OCD in cleanliness," America added.

"We'll bear that in mind," Arthur said with assurance.

"Anyways, since today's your last day here, we decided to give you a breakfast special." The American announced elaborately.

"Oh, just slip it through the bottom hatch," Francis crossed his legs.

"And no peeping!" The Briton interjected suddenly.

Both inmates could hear the American groan; which confirmed his perverse plan as the tray of food slid under the bottom hatch door. They didn't move from the make-shift bed but they could clearly see what sat on the tray.

"America, you know I don't like those revolting burgers you get at that fast food place!" Arthur screwed his face in disgust.

"Don't be so ungrateful!" The American exclaimed. "Those breakfast burgers are good enough to fill you up until lunch! You're lucky I know where you keep your spare cash you say is for a 'rainy day'! I had to borrow some because I didn't have enough money on me."

"You used _my_ money to buy those awful burgers without my permission!" Arthur bellowed, his trademark fury rose within every second.

"Canada wouldn't give me any and I pretty much know where you keep everything in your house." America explained. "Besides, what's the point of having money if you're not gonna spend it?"

"I'll give you a bloody point when we get out of here tomorrow you bloody wanker!" Arthur was about to charge out of the bed when Francis' arm acted as a barrier and shook his head. The Briton sighed in defeat and crossed his arms in a huff.

"At least we have the choice of them or pancakes," The Frenchman indicated to two plates of the thick, light brown pancakes smothered in a layer of golden maple syrup. The Briton let out another sigh. At least the Canadian was considerate enough to save them from eating those burgers.

"Um… if you don't mind me asking," Canada began, "how do you guys feel knowing that today will be your last day together in this cell?"

"Uh…" The inmates hesitated. They knew that if they kept their ideals from day one, they would say exactly how they felt without any reservations whatsoever because the hatred was that strong. But since hatred was replaced with love, they weren't quite so sure.

"Um… Brilliant. I can't wait to get out," Arthur stammered with an unconvincing tone.

"Et moi aussi," Francis stuttered. "I would like to get back to my home as soon as possible."

"And how do you feel about each other now that you've spent some time together?"

At that moment, both of them seized up. They couldn't possibly tell them about their secret love for each other even if they were America and Canada's ex-guardians. It wasn't until they felt their hands touch that the inmates turned to gaze into each other's eyes. And it was that gesture that enabled them to respond to the posing question.

"After spending time together, I think we understand each other a little better," Francis said not taking his eyes of Arthur's emerald irises.

"And I think it's safe to say you'll hear less arguments between us in future conferences," the Briton slowly slipped his fingers between Francis' digits and stroked them tenderly while still keeping eye contact with the French blue eyes.

"That sounds great," Canada's happiness was expressed through the tone of his voice. "The others will be happy with the progress you've made."

"Except for Russia," America cut in. If there's one thing everyone was certain of, it was America's way of sensing the mood and ruining it whether it was on purpose or accidental. "He made a bet saying that you two would have killed each other by the time we come to release you. Just hang in there for tomorrow and he'll be buying me anything from WacBurgers for a whole month at a snap of my heroic fingers!" Both inmates faced the door with a frown.

"You've made a bet with Russia?"

"And the outcome rests on whether we kill each other or not?"

"I think it's time we took our leave," Canada spoke quickly. He knew the situation became more awkward the longer they stayed. "We'll see you tomorrow."

"That is if you don't kill each other!" American piped up.

Francis and Arthur stared at the door as they heard the Northern American brother's footsteps (and America's scolding from Canada) fade until they could no longer be heard. Arthur pulled his hand away from Francis' and hugged his knees while the Frenchman still sat cross legged and gazed at the ceiling.

"I can't believe it," Francis murmured. "One more day in this place and we'll finally be free."

"I feel kind of sad that we're at the end of… whatever we've just been through," Arthur spoke in a dejected tone. "After everything that's happened, we have to leave a world that we've only just discovered."

Francis turned his head to the Briton and saw the sadness on his face. He too felt despondent about the whole ordeal but the reality was, they were going to be released tomorrow. They were still countries after all and countries had to carry out their duties to ensure their land stayed stable. The Frenchman's right hand lifted the Arthur's head and bought it to meet his.

"Listen Arthur, we will not be leaving this world we discovered behind. We will be taking it with us," He started. "Even though it began at this place, that does not mean we can't take it with us. It is like we've both promised; we would still love each other when we get out of here. Besides…" Francis stroked the Briton's straw-like hair with his left hand. "I'd rather not stay in this concrete cell forever, wouldn't you agree?"

Arthur let out a small laugh as he grabbed onto the hand supporting his chin. "You know this is all Germany's fault that we've been captured against our will, which forced us to fall in love?"

"But it is that fault that we should thank him for," Francis beamed a smile in return. "For now however, we must come up with a plan to get him and the others back for what they did to us. I'd say we try to convince Germany that his plan has failed and that it should not be implemented ever again. The question is how." Francis removed his hands from Arthur and placed one finger under his bearded chin in a thinking pose. A sly grin widened across Arthur's mouth as he leant his head closer to the French cheek.

"Why don't we convince him that his plan has indeed worked?" The Briton said with a mischievous tone in his voice.

"What do you mean Arthur?" Francis looked at him with a confused expression.

"What I meant to say was how about we make Germany's plan work… too well?" The Englishman let out a devilish chuckle.

It was then that Francis bared an impish grin. "What did you have in mind Arthur?"

"Well," The Briton started until his eyes darted between his and Francis' bare chests. "First we better put some clothes on. I'd rather not go through another close shave."

"What's wrong with staying like this?" The Frenchman playfully twirled one of his blonde curls. "I doubt the others would come to check up on us all the time just because this is our last day in the cell." Without any warning, a pair of brown trousers smacked into Francis' face. His hands scrambled to pull them off before pouting seconds after. "D'accord, d'accord! I'll put some clothes on while you give me the plan."

"Yes," Arthur pulled his black trousers with his wicked grin still stretched on his face. "We'll give them a little glimpse into the world that they helped us create."


	13. Welcome to our World Losers

"Gentlemen! The time has come for us to bear witness to what could be a revolutionary conclusion that will be written down in the pages of history," Germany announcement echoed as he along with Italy, Japan, America, Canada, Russia and China hiked down a set of concrete steps that lead deeper underground.

"In all honesty, I feel a bit nervous for them," Japan said.

"Even after what I told you guys yesterday?" Canada shot frown at the rest of the group. "They said they understood each other better."

"But how do you know that for sure, aru?" China questioned the Canadian. "For all we know, they could have lied just to deceive us. They wouldn't want to spend anymore time with each other than we want them to, aru."

"At least China agrees that there'll be bloodshed at the end of this," Russia beamed his trademark child-like smile at America.

The American's sneered from the corner of his eyes at the Russian. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"Oh really? What makes you sure that they won't kill each other?" Russia's demanding violet eyes laid upon America.

"Because I'm a hero and heroes are never wrong!" America's bright blue eyes sparkled with determination. Their argument was interrupted when everyone reached the metal door. When everyone stopped, Germany turned to face everyone with his icy blue eyes.

"Behind this door lays the result of a possible way to successfully settle disputes between arguing countries," He stated.

"Pardon me Germany-san, but you make it sound like we conducted some form of experiment rather than trying to improve the relationship between England-san and France-san," Japan raised his hand.

The German stroked his smooth blonde hair and hesitated. "I will confess. There was an ulterior motive for locking them up that I've kept from the rest of you." The other countries blinked in confusion. "As everyone knows, France and England's rivalry has been considered more well-known as well as more louder and inconvenient. If isolating two of the biggest rivals forces them to get along, think of what it can do for the other countries that constantly fight each other. We could be on a path to world peace."

"If that's the case, can China and I go in next? I want to get to know him better, da." Russia grinned at the terrified expression of the Chinese man. "But what if this experiment of yours turns out to be a failure? For all we know, their relationship may not have changed at all or it could have gotten worse over the weeks…" The Russian glanced at the American making him snap.

"I'm still in with a chance of winning that bet you commie!"

"Like Germany has said before, France and England's rivalry have been one of the most well-known though out the world," Russia continued. "I very much doubt people who have been rivals for a long time can truly become friends. Maybe seeing their enemies' face every day in a room where they can't escape, was enough to drive them insane to the point of killing each other."

"I think they'd be a little more civil than that commie!" America tightened his fists and gritted his teeth in which Russia laughed in response. Observing the ensuing argument, Germany took out a small, black, leather note pad from his back pocket and started scribbling down on it. Italy noticed this and peered over the German's shoulder.

"Veh, Germany, what are you writing?" He asked.

The German sighed. "The next pair to be locked up in the cell." All of the sudden, a loud cackle erupted from the other side of the metal door signalling everyone to stop what they were doing.

"I hear… laughter," Japan stammered.

"Laughing is a good thing isn't it?" Italy beamed. "That means they must be getting along!"

"I don't know," China spoke with a tone of uncertainty as he raised his long sleeve to his chin. "There's something off about that laugh just now."

"It sounds like a laugh of a psychopath," Russia chuckled much to everyone's nervousness. "Besides, I could only hear one laugh."

"You haven't won yet! Both of them have to be dead!" America reminded the Russian.

As if on cue, a pair of cackles filled the tension in the air once more. America punched the air in delight.

"Yes! In your face commie!" He jabbed his finger at the platinum blonde haired giant. "You're buying me WacBurgers for a month!"

Germany cleared his throat as he began unlocking the cell door. "Well at least we can confirm that they're still alive. But the real test is, has their relationship improved?" Everyone waited nervously as the lock clunked with the turn of the key. "England, France, your time in here is up. Once this door opens you'll be free to go." Another burst of laughter was the reply to Germany's last sentence.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Canada hugged his polar bear cub closer to his chest for security. There was some hesitation about opening the door from the German but he eventually and slowly pulled the door towards himself. He peered around it only to snap it closed again. The others looked at the wide eyed German with bemused expressions.

"Germany-san, what is the matter?" Japan inquired.

"Have they killed each other after all?" Russia grinned like an excited child. It took Germany a long while to compose himself enough to only pull the door open again. The other countries gathered around the gap, only to stare at the pitiful sight before them. France sat on the bottom bunk of the bed with the mattress and pillows returned to their original state while England leant against the wall. Both of them were enveloped in uncontrollable giggles as though they drunk a lot of alcoholic beverages.

"Oh look France!" The Briton pointed at the Frenchman. "Uni wants to see you!"

"Aaaw! Bonjour pretty unicorn!" France mimed as he held out his flat hand out. "I have some rainbow drops for you. Would you like some?"

While the two inmates petted the air, the faces on everyone else dropped into a horrified state. None of them could blink nor turn away from the scene that met their eyes. "Germany, what's going on?" America finally mustered as Germany joined in with the frozen group.

"I don't… this wasn't supposed to happen…" The German stuttered as they watched the scene in dismay. "Did you put some kind of hallucinatory drug in their food?"

"No!" America screeched. "We've put nothing of the sort in there!"

"I think they may have the case of cabin fever," Japan's voice wavered.

"But they were fine yesterday!" Canada stammered. Meanwhile, France leant back and pointed his finger at England.

"Oh England! I think the leprechaun has something he wants to say to you," He sang in a sing song voice. The Briton responded pressing the lobe of his ear forward with his fingers.

"What's that Mr Leprechaun?" England said in condescending manner. "You say we have visitors?" At that moment, both inmates gazed at the countries with a deranged expression making everyone feel less than uncomfortable. England turned back to the invisible leprechaun. "Why, we do have visitors! We don't get them very often so we weren't prepared for their visit! It was rude of us to have not noticed!"

"Then why don't we go and greet our guests?" France suggested as he jumped from his spot. England did the same, placing his hands on his waist in a heroic pose.

"Yes, I think we shall!"

"Everyone get back!" Germany commanded. "Their mental state is clearly unstable and they may act violent towards us!" Without a second thought, everyone else moved away from the door, allowing the giddy England and France to burst through it.

"Germany! This wasn't supposed to be part of the plan, aru!" China yelled standing in his fighting stance.

"I didn't know this was going to happen!" The German shouted. "I thought they had the will to get through it!"

"Well you thought wrong!" America glared at Germany with anger on his face. "This is your fault they've gone insane!"

"America! England's coming towards you!" Canada exclaimed, making the American spin around to face the oncoming British man. He braced himself by crossing his arms across his face when England suddenly halted to a stop. America slowly lowered his arms as they stared at each other. The intense gaze unsettled the American as he wondered what action the Briton's unhinged mind would take.

"Urble glurble bluble bluble blergh blergh glurble glurble," England slurred.

America cocked his eye brows. "What?"

"Urble glurble glurble bluble durgle urgle memnah blurgle," The Briton gestured his hands as though he was trying to explain something.

"Look, I can't understand you. Trying speaking English," America's lips quivered.

"URBLE FLUFFLE BLUGH ARGH PUGGLE NUGGA BLURGLE DAH DAH DEE BLURGLE BLURGLE!" England waved his arms furiously. America took a step back.

"Seriously dude! Stop it! What the hell is wrong with you!"

"Britain! Is this not one of those may poles you spoke about?" France pointed at Russia which drew the Briton's attention away from America.

"Why yes that is!" He squealed with excitement, leaving the American to try and relief himself. Russia looked at the two countries with a bemused expression as England took both ends of his grey scarf. "On the first Monday of the month of May, there's a tradition where children each hold a ribbon and dance around a may pole. Why don't we have a dance now?" Russia wasn't sure how to handle the situation as England passed one end of the scarf to France. Before he knew it, the Russian felt a weird sensation as both countries skipped around him singing songs that made little sense. Russia could only watch them with curiosity.

"What are they doing?" He said nervously. "Make them stop."

Italy watched the surreal scene with a sense of joy yet perturbed appearance. Sure England and France were having a lot of fun but it was as Germany said, they're not in their right minds. Something patting his leg however broke the Italian out of that thought as he looked down to find the Frenchman on his hands and knees, gazing at him with wide cutesy eyes.

"Meow," France stroked his leg with his hand before he pretended to clean himself behind his non-existent cat ears.

"Um… big brother France?" Italy murmured as the Frenchman purred and nudged his head against his leg. He let out another mew which the Italian found appealing. So much so, that he crouched to France's level and raised a comforting smile.

"You're a nice kitty aren't you?" Italy stroked the top of the Frenchman's hair as one would with a real cat. "How about I make you some tuna pasta and bring you a saucer of milk? Would you like that?" France mewed happily as Germany over heard what Italy said.

"Don't encourage him!" The German shouted, dragging France to his feet by the collar of his shirt. The Frenchman hissed with annoyance and lashed his arms in an attempt to claw Germany's face.

"Give me back my scarf!"

"England dude! You're seriously freaking me out!"

"WoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo!"

Germany spun around to find England terrorising a panicky America by waving Russia's scarf at him while wailing ghost noises. While the Russian tried to prize the scarf from England's grip, the Briton spun his head around to catch a glimpse of an alarmed Japan in the middle of all the chaos. Throwing the ends of the scarf away, England strode over to Japan who had the right to be more than nervous about being the next victim.

"May I just say that you are the most beautiful creature my eyes have had the fortune of meeting?" England said in his smoothest tone of voice.

The Japanese man winced. "B-but… I'm a man…"

"What are you saying my dear?" The Briton gently took Japan's shaking hand and lovingly gazed at the Japanese's distressed expression. "You have an elegant, feminine grace that I don't find in many women such as yourself."

"P-Personal space… personal spa-ace…" Japan's words barely wavered as he froze on the spot with fear.

"England! Stop flirting with Japan and compose yourself!" Germany barked. France, whose shirt collar was still in the grip of the German, seized his opportunity of escape. Seeing Germany's free hand floating in front of him, France lunged and sank his teeth into the German flesh. Germany let out an almighty roar and a few curse words as his other hand snapped open, releasing the shirt collar. While Italy tended to Germany's "injury", France used him as a distraction and loped towards England, who was getting an all too friendly hug for Japan's liking.

"I am sorry monsieur but this young lady seems to be in distress around you," France pulled the Japanese man out of the British arms and into his own. Japan tried to squirm out of the French grip but to no avail. He looked up to find the pair of lustful blue eyes gazing down on him. "You are safe now mon cherie. No-one shall violate you as long as I'm around."

"But you're-"

"Oi! I believe I found her first so unhand her immediately!" England jabbed his finger into the French shoulder.

"Oh non non non! Can you not see she prefers to be with moi?"

"Then how about we settle it once and for all; let the young lady decide who she wants to love!"

"W-What are you going to-"

All too sudden did two pairs of lips crash on both sides of the Japanese flushed cheeks, England to the right and France to the left. Once both cheeks pulled away, Japan's whimpers transformed into a scream of terror. Never had anyone seen Japan bolt up the stairs and out of sight so fast, since the incident with his tuna stock and the visit from Greece's cats. Japan's sudden disappearance left England and France perplexed.

"Oh la la," France sighed. "I think that girl was a little too shy."

"Not to worry though," England optimistically spoke as he pulled China into his embrace. He tried to struggle from the British grip as he felt his long pony-tail being stroked. "This wonderful woman's hair is like the night sky blanket adorned with diamond stars and her voice is that of the nightingale that sings her song which my ears cannot resist."

Canada at this point tried to use his invisibility that he loathed so much to his advantage, only for it to be ruined by France capturing him in his arms. "And this angel has fallen from the ray of sunshine that her golden locks reflect. And just look at those amethyst eyes; I am drowning in their charming depths."

"You only notice me properly when you're mad?" The Canadian squeaked as his head repelled from the French lips that came dangerously close to his.

Once Germany assured Italy, for the twentieth time that France's bite didn't cause serious damage, he marched up to the lunatics and hauled them away from China and Canada by the collars of their shirts.

"That's it!" Germany bellowed. "You two are going straight home for some bed rest!"

"Aaw but we don't want to go to school maman," France complained with a child-like tone.

"Yeah, school sucks," England scowled.

Before Germany could answer back, both countries he held threw their arms around his broad shoulders into a hug. "We want to stay at home and bake cookies with you all day long!" They shrilled in delight at the same time. This made Germany really lose it in terms of patience.

"That does it!" He screamed as he pushed England into America and Canada. "You two will escort England back to his place and make sure he stays there!" Likewise, he threw France into Italy, Russia and China. "And you three shall take France back to his home and do not let him get away!" The German snapped his head in all directions before glaring back at the rest of the countries. "Where the hell is Japan?"

"Oh, Japan ran away because these two managed to traumatise him by kissing his cheeks," China explained.

Germany rubbed his throbbing forehead. "Fine. Italy, since you can run a lot faster than anyone here, you have the job of finding and returning Japan to me so I can assign him into to who ever he wants to escort. I will be escorting England with America and the girl with the blonde hair."

"I'm Canada," The Canadian whined.

Once Italy vanished up the stairs, Germany turned to the rest of the countries. "Alright you two, lets get you home."

"Row row row your boat, gently down the stream," France and England sang as they walked backwards in a line whilst circling their arms in a rowing motion. "If you see a crocodile don't forget to scream! Ah!"

As they sang another round of the same song, all everyone else could do was stare despondently that the insane couple.

"Let make one thing clear," Germany started. "We must never meddle in the business of France England's arguments unless they require our intervention. Agreed?"

Needless to say, all the other countries nodded their heads in agreement to the German's statement. "Agreed."

"If you see a crocodile, don't forget to scream! Ah!"

!

During France and England's "recovery" of their case of "cabin fever", the other countries involved with 'Operation Cell Mate' held a meeting about the incident that occurred. Several conclusions have been reached and a lot of promises had to be made.

For example; everyone still agreed with what Germany had said about meddling in France and England's arguments; it's a bad idea and no-one should do it. That's what the island dedicated to their fighting was for. If one does erupt between them at any time, as long as no-one intervenes, problems are not likely to escalate and no-one else would get caught up in the fights.

Another decision that had been made was that the cell Germany constructed would not be used as a way to settle disputes. After witnessing what it did to France and England, it was obvious that no-one would not want to suffer the same fate, nor would anyone want to spend three weeks locked up in a cell, with their worst enemy or someone they picked a fight with.

Because of this, Germany had to endure constant reminders of how his glorious plan crashed and burned into a nicely lit bonfire. It would be several weeks later where he would have enough courage and pride to lift his head in conferences and meetings. But there have been rumours that despite plans of having the cell demolished, Germany still used it for when he needed to spend some quality time alone, or when he needed to lock Italy up for being too annoying.

!

**A/N: Wow this has got to be the most disturbing yet funniest thing I've ever written. But I'd like to thank my sister known as Twilightgirl12 or Air_Twilight_Guardian (whatever she calls herself) for helping me come up with some of the jokes and other things for this story. We do have some really random and funny discussions that make us laugh until our stomachs hurt and I really do appreciate her sense of humour.**

**Just one more chapter to go folks and I'm gonna be glad to finishing this because I have a mountain of coursework that I have been neglecting. I shouldn't but I'm a procrastinator *laughs*. But I'm also going to miss writing all the scenes that have had me (and my sister) in stitches, had me tears (when I write for France, I always cry for some reason), had me test myself when writing the infamous sex scene and had me feeling warm and cosy writing the fluffy parts. This is also my second Hetalia story I've written (I'll put my first one here after I got this one up) and I seriously love writing for the colourful characters that Hidekaz Himaruya personified. As you can tell, FrUk has become my favourite pairing (I seem to like pairings that are wrong but so right for some reason). Until next time, I'll see you guys in the final chapter.**


	14. Epilogue

"I hope big brother France is feeling better today," Italy radiated his cheerful smile at a very nervous Japan. The reason for his nervousness? They were visiting France. Well, Germany said 'visit' but he added the part where they had to make sure France was recovering alright from his "mental illness". Japan nodded his head slightly in agreement with the Italian as they pushed the metal, white gate open and stepped onto the sandy coloured, concrete path. Not even the red rose bushes and other blooming flowers in the front garden could lift the Japanese man's uneasiness. It had been a fortnight since the incident and he still hasn't recovered from having his personal space violated by France and England.

"Well I've bought this just in case France-san starts acting strange again," Japan searched through the front pocket compartment of his blue rucksack and pulled out a black spray can.

"What's in it?" Italy eyed it up with a puzzled expression.

"Pepper spray," Japan answered bluntly. "Germany-san gave it to me for our protection."

"I'm sure France isn't going kiss you like he did the last time," The auburn haired man reassured the Japanese man as he pressed the door bell next to the white door. Japan didn't realise they arrived at the front door so quickly. His hand clutched the spray can tight as "L'enfants de Marseilles" chimed its tune. He made every effort to block the memory of his cheeks sullied by British and French lips. That memory became the reason why he didn't come out of his room for a week, after Germany forced him to escort England home with America and Canada. Suddenly he winced at the shrill voice that pricked his ears.

"Bonjour mes amis!"

Japan yanked the lid off the pepper spray can and aimed it several inches from a startled Frenchman dressed in a blue dressing gown. The Japanese hand froze. An awkward pause lingered for seconds before Japan relaxed a little.

"Sorry. Reflex," He apologised before packing the spray can into his back pack.

France breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Whatever it is I did to traumatise you in my madness, I still apologise a thousand times."

"N-No, it's alright," Japan stammered as he gave his trademark greeting of a bow. "I'm slowly getting over it."

"Veh! Big brother France! I made some 'get well' treats that I thought you'd like," Italy chirped handing over a purple pouch with blue ribbon tied around it.

"Aaw, you shouldn't have! Merci beaucoup!" The Frenchman gasped in surprise as he accepted the gift.

"We just came by to see how you're doing with your recovery," Japan raised a polite smile.

"Bien, I am feeling a lot better than I was all those weeks ago," France flicked his shoulder length, blonde hair. "The doctor said I'm making a rapid recovery and I'll be back in full health within a couple of days."

"So you might be able to come to the conference next week?" Italy asked excitedly.

"But of course," The French eyes sparkled with its normal brilliance. "And I suppose Angleterre is mending well aussi?"

"Actually, we wanted to ask you about him," Japan said. "A few days ago, America-san and Canada-san went to visit England-san two days ago, only to find that he had completely vanished. They managed to enter his house but the absence of his phone was the only indication that he went out. According to America-san, England-san has escaped and could be terrorising an unsuspecting village if his mind isn't in the right state. I don't suppose you've seen or heard anything from him have you?"

"Britain is scary enough as he is," Italy quivered uncomfortably.

"Hmm, as much as I wish to help, I haven't been outside enough to see anything of anyone let alone Angleterre," France shook his head. "If you want, I'll let you know if I hear anything about him."

"Arigato," Japan bowed once more. "Well as brief as this meeting is, we best be leaving."

"I hope you can come to the conference next week!" Italy waved as he along with Japan turned and made their way down the garden path.

"I shall be there, don't you worry," France waved back. "Oh! Look out for the garden path gremlins! They're very territorial and will trip you up by any means necessary!"

Japan shuddered to a stop and turned to look back at France with a smile concealing his worry. "Um… we'll bear that in mind." When the Japanese man faced forward, the Italian strode across the path on his tip-toes. "Italy-kun, what are you doing?" He asked.

"I'm looking out for those garden path gremlins France warned us about," Italy scanned the garden path intensely.

"You do realise he's still under the weather Italy-kun," Japan pulled the white gate open.

Meanwhile, France still waved from the front door. "Adieu! Adieu!" He said cheerfully as he slowly closed the door. He pressed his back against it and finally let slip a sly smile as soon as Japan and Italy disappeared from view, through the tiny eye porthole. "Au revoir," he uttered.

All the way from the front door and up the stairs to his bedroom, the Frenchman couldn't resist sniggering to himself. The horrified face on Japan when he mentioned the garden path gremlins was priceless and Italy believing it made the whole ordeal funnier even if it was just a small element. Finally, he reached the wooden brown bedroom door and pushed it open. Once inside, he found the young man with choppy blonde hair sitting on the end of the king size bed, buttoning up his white shirt and his legs already covered with black trousers. He looked up to the Frenchman with his emerald eyes and a mischievous smile creeping on his face.

"So, who came to visit, Francis?" He spoke in his strong British accent. Francis returned the smile as he sat down beside the man.

"That was Italy and Japan checking up on my mental well-being Arthur," The Frenchman answered as he gazed at the Briton with his loving blue eyes. "And apparently, your disappearance is causing a lot of people a great deal of panic in the ranks."

"So I've been made a fugitive now?" Arthur chuckled with a hint of sarcasm. "That's quite tame for me if I do say so myself."

"Oui and America is determined to find you, even if that means calling the CIA, the FBI and whatever else he has at his disposal," Francis continued with a playful grin as Arthur finished doing up his red tie around his neck.

"Oh he shouldn't really," The Briton commented. "He's been worrying about me too much since we put on quite a performance worthy of Shakespeare. And by the way, you almost made me give myself away. I mean, garden path gremlins?" Arthur chuckled raising a smile on Francis' lips.

"Well I wanted to tease them," The Frenchman sniggered. "I couldn't resist seeing poor Japan's expression one more time."

"Well I nearly burst out laughing," The Briton giggled. "It's the garden path pixies that trip people up not gremlins." Francis rolled his eyes and uttered a 'd'accord' as Arthur grabbed a pair of grey socks and pulled them to his feet. "As much as I hate to leave you alone, I think I better put everyone's minds at rest and return to my place." Just as he was about to stand on his feet, Francis grabbed his arm and pulled him back down to the bed.

"Oh, can't you stay for a little while longer?" The Frenchman fluttered his eye lashes in hopes of changing Arthur's mind. Knowing he'd fall for that trick, Arthur avoided the Francis' attempt of eye contact.

"If only I could," He murmured. "But I have to go or we risk America hurtling himself through the bedroom window, declaring he's the hero."

"Oh…" Francis's eyes drifted down before looking back up with a soft gaze. "So there is nothing more I can do to convince you otherwise?" Francis slipped his fingers on his left hand through the fingers on the Briton's right hand. Arthur could feel the French finger tips tenderly stroking the back of his hand. The sensual feeling was enough to let his guard down as his green eyes met with Francis' pleading blue. Drowning in his appeal, Arthur chuckled as a mischievous smile stretched across his lips.

"Well…you can start by giving me another one of your kisses."

!

**A/N: And that is the end of 'Two Countries, One World'. I haven't felt this good about finishing a fan-fic since the last time I finished writing a multi-chapter story (and my written college assignments for that matter). Ironically, I'm posting the final chapter, the ending of this story, on my birthday so this story will feel special in more than one way.**

**I'd like to first of all thank my sister, Twilightgirl12, for encouraging me and helping me come up with the jokes and other things for this particular story. We both had a laugh talking about where the story was going and she had the box of tissues ready when I cried at writing all the emotional parts.**

**I also give my thanks to Hidekaz Himaruya for creating this awesome series because without Hetalia, I wouldn't have found a lot of things as funny as I do now. Nor would I have been interested in doing research about other countries and their cultures as well as their history. I feel like I've gained a lot more knowledge since becoming a fan.**

**And last but not least, I thank you the readers, who took the time to read something that I have poured a lot of myself into. I am humbled by all the reviews you give me (whether they're kind comments or constructive ones to help me improve as a writer) and I love speaking to you guys too. You, the readers, are the reason why I was determined to finish this fan-fic, to finish the struggle that I started for my favourite characters.**

**I may not start immediately but I am currently in the process of writing a sequel for this story. However, that's all I'm going to tell you about it for now. Once again, thank you so much for taking the time to read and review this story. I will always be forever grateful for the reviews and comments that I am always eager to hear/read. **

**EDIT: Hey guys! Long time no see! After being busy with college assignments, I was suprised to see this story getting 104n reviews! I feel so chuffed about it and thank you so uch for reviewing! However, saying 'hi' was not the reason why I'm here.**

**A lot of people have been asking me whether the sequel will involve America and Russia being locked up together like France and England. My answer is that no-one else is going to be locked up in a cell. So I apologise if I've destroyed the dreams of the many AmericaxRussia fangirls/boys. And that's what I'm going to leave you with until next time.**


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